


The Masques We Wear

by TigStripe



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Black Lightning (TV), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Depowered Arrowverse, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, OT3, Pre-Lian Yu Oliver Queen, Relationships and Characters will be added as we go, Slow Burn, Tolivarry is Endgame, strip club au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigStripe/pseuds/TigStripe
Summary: When Barry Allen moves to Starling City for a CSI internship for college, he realizes he needs a job. Enter his rich, squatter roommate Oliver Queen, who introduces Barry to an entire world he'd never expected to visit: working at a strip club called Masques.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen, Barry Allen/Tommy Merlyn, Barry Allen/Tommy Merlyn/Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn/Oliver Queen, various background or canon relationships
Comments: 31
Kudos: 75





	1. Starling City

Starling City was a cesspool of crime and immorality, but when your college sends you “abroad” to study, you don’t ask where. One man’s wiry frame stood stock still with his heart in his throat, staring down the wall-mounted letters of Starling City Police Department. He swallowed hard. He cleared his throat. He adjusted his jacket. He was here for a reason, and it was a valid one at that. Time to meet his new boss.

The interior of SCPD was bustling, as expected. He bumbled his way to stand across a desk from someone official-looking. He urged himself to not ball up his fists.

“Hey, kid, need to file a report?” the cop asked. He was gruff, with more stubble than was sure probably up to code, his voice thick with city accent. He must have come from the East coast.

“Sorry. I’m Barry Allen,” the intern announced, pulling out an ID and handing it to the cop. “I’m a student from Central City in a transfer program. I’m supposed to be meeting Dr. Allegheny, but I don’t know where the CSI department is. Can you help?”

The cop gave Barry a smile. It was warmer than he’d expected. “Sure thing, kid.” He stood up and held out a hand. “Officer Quentin Lance. The Lab’s over a few blocks. I’ll walk you there.”

Barry shook his hand, but he didn’t return the smile. In fact, he found himself even more nervous now. “Y-You don’t have to-”

“Shut up, I’m bored, and until you know your way around, you don’t go to the Lab without an escort,” Lance snapped. Barry wasn’t sure how serious he was being, but he clamped his jaw shut anyway.

“Toni, I’m takin’ this kid to the Lab,” Lance announced to a cop across the aisle. She nodded in response and returned to her booking of a seedy looking fellow that stared at Barry with a mixture of apathy and contempt. Lance looked back at Barry, his own grin quite pleasant. “All right, kid, let’s go.”

The walk to the SCPD Lab was short, but informative: Officer Lance would point at a building and ramble about it before waving to someone passing them on the street. For all the negative press Starling got back in Central City, Barry noticed the people were actually quite friendly. Especially Officer Lance. Barry found himself smiling more than once at the man’s energy and evident love for his city.

The Lab itself was about half the size of the precinct, but had twice the security. Lance had to use an ID to get inside the guarded front door and lead Barry down a sterile hallway, past the glass-lined CSI labs, and to the main office. He stopped outside a door labeled “Allegheny” and jerked his head for Barry to go on in.

“I’ll see you around, kid.” He handed Barry a business card with his name on it. “You need anything, you let me know.”

“Thanks, Officer Lance, this means a lot,” Barry replied. He cleared his throat when he realized he was grinning, then nodded at the officer as he started to walk away.

Barry turned to the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Dr. Allegheny had been quite pleasant, although a bit more serious than Officer Lance. The rules of Barry’s internship were laid out quite simply: starting the following week, he would work four hours per day, without a set schedule or pay, with the SCPD, including various tasks including lab work and even ride-alongs with officers. He was to live on-campus over at Starling Community College, but he wasn’t a student and his meals weren’t paid for by the SCPD.

Meaning: he needed a job.

That night in his new place - an on-campus apartment in one of the more run-down facilities at SCC - he decided to take Officer Lance up on his offer.

The phone rang three times before Barry heard a click on the other end.

“Yeah?”

“Officer Lance, this is Barry Allen, you helped me with the CSI Lab this afternoon?”

“Sure, kid. What’s up?”

“Well, I found out I’m going to need a job alongside my internship. I was wondering if you knew anyone closer to the job market I might talk to?”

There was a pause. “Sure thing, kid, come by the station sometime tomorrow after two. I’ll be back from my rounds by then. I’ll have my daughter meet you - she’s real big into helpin’ people find things they need, a job shouldn’t be difficult. She’s about your age, too, maybe a few years older.”

Barry chuckled. “Are you trying to set me up with your daughter, Sir?”

“Nah, she’s taken, although from what I know of you, you’d be the better choice.” Barry laughed a little more openly at this. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”

Barry said his goodbyes and hung up just as the sound of his roommate closing the front door. Barry knew he’d be sharing space with someone, but he knew nothing about them. He turned to look at his new roomie. As he recognized the face in front of him, his heart skipped a beat.

Oliver Queen - _the_ Oliver Queen - was standing in the living room, jacket slung over one muscled shoulder. He stared at Barry with raised eyebrows, neither of them moving. Finally, Oliver lifted a two-finger salute.

“Yo?”

Barry gulped hard. “S-Sorry. You’re-”

“Oliver Queen, yeah,” his roommate replied. He was obviously bored with how this was going, as he’d turned to the hallway to hang up his jacket. “There was a notice on the door a few days ago that there was a student coming in from Central City this week. That you?”

Barry nodded. “But you’re-”

Oliver sighed, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Yes. I know who I am. And who are you?”

Oh. Right. “Allen. Allen Barry.”

“Okay, Allen Barry-”

Well, crud. “I mean Barry Allen.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes in a mix of amusement and confusion. “Are you a little tongue-tied?”

Hands buried themselves in pockets as Barry turned his reddened face away. “Sorry. I don’t get to meet a lot of nationally famous people.”

“Something we don’t share,” Oliver muttered as he closed the hallway closet. “Listen. I’m not actually your roommate. I just crash here when I need some time away from my folks. This place is rented out to someone named Olsen, but they’re never here.”

“You’re squatting on SCC campus?” Barry laughed at the absurdity. “Really?”

Oliver shrugged. “I paid my way. Sort of. At least, the Dean of Admissions says I’m okay to stay here, as long as I check in with him from time to time.”

“Why does that sound so shady?”

“Because it is,” Oliver replied in a huff. He shucked his shirt right there in the hallway, revealing the marbled muscle beneath it. Barry averted his eyes. “Gotta get ready for work. I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”

This caught Barry slightly off guard. “Work? All the tabloids say you’re unemployed and living off a trust fund.”

“Tabloids are shit,” Oliver nearly spat. “I work. My work requires signing of a Non-Disclosure Agreement, but I work.”

A _what?_ “What do you do?”

“If I told you that, I’d be breaking my own contract,” Oliver said, distracted. He grabbed something from one of the bedrooms and returning to the living room. It looked like...was that _underwear?_

Oliver gave Barry the two-finger salute again. “Okay, I’m outtie. I usually get back around five in the morning, six on a good day. Wanna make a good impression, you could totally make me some pancakes.”

Barry gave a confused wave in return as Oliver stepped outside in no shirt or jacket at all, leaving him in a stunned silence.

Finally, Barry’s voice found itself.

“What the hell was that?”

Barry did not, in fact, make Oliver pancakes the next morning.

The first morning was a bit of a blur for Barry. He put in applications at around fifteen different places near campus, but with the SCPD internship messing with his day schedule, he had no idea how likely any callbacks were. Oliver came home around six (it must have been a good day) and promptly passed out, a little drunk, on the sofa in the living room, before Barry even woke up. Around noon, Barry took a tour of the campus and surrounding area, just to get a feel for Starling City. Like yesterday, he found the people were generally quite friendly, and wondered why all the news made it sound like he had been shipped off to a gang war zone.

At the promised time, Barry arrived at the precinct to meet up with Officer Lance and his daughter. He stood there awkwardly outside the front doors, hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. At almost two-thirty, the doors opened and Officer Lance stepped out, cell phone to his ear.

“Right, right. Well, the new guy’s here,” Lance said, acknowledging Barry’s presence with a wave. “You on your way?” A pause in the conversation. “Good. Don’t want to leave the kid waiting too long. He’s got things to do, too.”

Barry chuckled to himself. He really didn’t, but it was nice that Officer Lance would assume so.

“Okay. See you in a minute, baby. Bye.” Lance hung up and gave a big sigh. “Sorry. My daughter is a paralegal at a firm near the Glades. It’s hard for her to get away in the afternoon sometimes.”

Barry hadn’t heard of that area. “The Glades?”

“The run-down part of the city. Crazy gang violence and muggings all over the place. We’re only a couple of miles from there,” Lance replied, pointing. “I suspect you’ll spend at least some time there once you get started with your CSI stuff.”

“Is it really that bad?” Barry asked.

Lance sighed and crossed his arms. “Lemme ask you this, Allen: what does Central City think about Starling?”

Barry conceded to that. To the outside world, Starling City was the height of criminal activity in the northwest. 

“That’s not a fair question,” a female voice sounded from down the steps. Barry turned to see a stunning young woman, not much older than him, making her way directly to them. She swept her hair behind her ear and smiled up at Officer Lance before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, Daddy.” She looked Barry straight in the eye. “And you’re the new guy? Barry? I’m Laurel. Pleased to meet you.”

Heat rose into his cheeks as he nodded.

Officer Lance, however, seemed almost offended. “What do you mean, ‘not a fair question?’ I was just asking-”

“You were asking an outsider for their opinion based on the image the news gives our city,” his daughter snapped. “It’s not fair to ask someone their opinion on something they don’t have first-hand experience with. I’m sure he’ll have much more to say about it after working with the SCPD, don’t you?”

Officer Lance sighed, a smile crossing his face. “You sure know how to tell me off without me feeling bad, don’t you?”

She smiled. It was dazzling. “I try.”

“Well, I’ve got a few things to do before my afternoon rounds, so I’ll leave him to you,” Officer Lance said, clapping his hands together like some kind of task needed doing. “Give him your number, Laurel, so he doesn’t have to call me at the precinct to get in touch.”

Barry’s cheeks flared red again. “I-I don’t think-”

“Sure thing, Daddy. Stay safe.” She waved to her father as he turned away from them and slipped an arm around one of Barry’s to lead him down the steps all in one fluid motion.

“Okay, so tell me a little about yourself,” Laurel began. Before he could say anything, she gave him a mischievous grin. “Do you like Big Belly Burger?”

Big Belly Burger was the same in Starling as it was in Central: fatty and delicious. Barry’s eyes lit up with excitement when he watched Laurel dip a fry into her shake. He tried it himself, and was temporarily transported to a dimension of sweet-salty bliss. They laughed and talked for quite some time about this and that, like Barry’s internship or Laurel’s job as a paralegal. By the time they got ready to go, Barry felt he’d made his first friend in Starling.

“Oh, I forgot to ask about where you’re staying,” Laurel realized as she picked up her purse to leave.

“I’m in a school-owned apartment on campus,” Barry said. He held the door open for her to step out onto the sidewalk. “I thought I’d have a roommate, but instead I just have a squatter, I guess?”

Laurel’s nose wrinkled. “A squatter? Really? Like a homeless person? On that side of town?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say homeless,” Barry said with a bit of a shrug. He looked around for eavesdroppers. He lowered his voice. “It was _Oliver Queen.”_

Laurel’s features hardened and she tilted her head to one side, her eyes boring into Barry’s forehead. “Oliver Queen. Squatting. In a college apartment.”

He laughed. “I know, right? I’ve never met a tabloid celebrity before, but there he was, in all his shirtless glory-” He snapped his jaw shut as his ears started burning. Did he really just-

Laurel just sighed and rubbed her temple. “Barry, listen to me. Stay away from Oliver Queen.”

Barry almost pouted. “But what if he keeps coming into the apartment? Should I have the locks changed?”

“Yes. And alert the campus police. Or my dad. Just...don’t let him get away with that for nothing.”

“You sound like you’ve been personally offended by this.”

Laurel’s smile was proper. Forced, but proper. “I have. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cryptic, but okay,” Barry said, and they walked off together toward Laurel’s car.

That evening, the living room proved more active than before, as Barry had set up a sort of work station on the couch as he filled out work applications. Music played quietly as he studied the requirements of one in particular. He hovered his mouse over the “Submit” button just as the front door flung open.

Oliver entered the room with a flair not unlike one expecting a standing ovation. “Hey, Bart, you’re still here,” he said, giving Barry finger guns. Barry almost felt embarrassed for him.

“It’s _Barry._ And this isn’t your house. Shouldn’t you go back to the Queens?”

Oliver put a defiant lean on the kitchen counter. “Sorry? Which of us has lived here longer, _Barry?_ I feel like you’re the intruder here, not me.”

“Sorry you feel that way,” Barry replied, not even looking at him, “but I’ve been told to keep my distance from you, and the best way to do that is if you just don’t come around here anymore.”

Oliver mouthed the words to himself before repeating them. “‘Keep your distance,’ huh? Whoever said that is fucking rude.”

“Says the sailor.”

There was a shrug in response. “Hey, when you’ve been talked shit about as long as I have, you learn to stop caring about your image.”

“Please leave.”

“Fine. I’ll change for work and head out, then.”

Oliver took a step toward the bedroom, but Barry looking up at him stopped him dead. “No, I mean you need to leave. For good.”

Oliver straightened up to his full height and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “For good? Or what, kid?”

Barry, however, was unimpressed. He’d dealt with his share of kids bigger than him throughout his life. “I’ll call Officer Lance and have you arrested for unlawful entry.”

“Officer _Lance?”_ Oliver gave a great laugh. “Okay, I think I know who you talked to. I’ll have a talk with Laurel after work, then.”

This gave Barry a start. “You know Laurel?”

“Yup.” Oliver moved into the bedroom and grabbed his “supplies” just like the night before: nothing but a slip of clothing. As he appeared once more, he was smiling. “She’s actually one of my best friends. Real nice. Great friend. Kind of a pain sometimes.”

“She sounded pretty serious about not letting you stay here.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was.”

“So I’m acting on it.”

“Go for it, kid.”

Barry cleared his throat and stood up from the couch in an attempt to seem more serious. “I mean it. Don’t come back.”

Oliver sighed, his arms going limp at his sides. “Listen, Barry, I’m not hurting anyone. I’m barely even _here_ most of the time. Can’t you just let me crash here every now and then?”

The request seemed earnest, like Oliver was avoiding something. Maybe things weren’t quite so blissful in Rich People Valley. “I don’t know. It really just feels like an inconvenience for me.”

“Try getting booted out of a place you use just to get away from the stress of your family,” Oliver muttered.

They fell into a contrary silence, each of them considering their options.

Finally, Oliver perked up. “Hey, when I headed out earlier, I saw the newspapers on the table. You’re looking for a job?”

Barry nodded.

“I know a guy. If I land you work, can I keep crashing here? Not even every night, scout’s honor.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow. That was sudden. “What kind of job?”

“A friend of mine owns a club near the Glades. You’re over twenty-one?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

Oliver grinned. “How about bartending? We could always use a backup bartender, and you could really rack up the tips if you do it right.” The last part was delivered with a bit of a glance down at Barry’s body. “Yeah, I think you’d do well.”

“I don’t know. Bartending sounds like it would cause problems with the CSI training.”

Oliver held up an open palm in peace. “If it lets me stay on your couch, I can convince the boss to be more flexible with your hours.”

Barry stared in suspicion. “This sounds too good to be true.”

Oliver gave a half-ass shrug. “It might be. But I’m offering you an opportunity. You going to let it pass you by?”

The man had a point - even if this job fell through, it was still a _job,_ and it was being handed to him with almost no effort. And Laurel _did_ say to make sure Oliver wasn’t _freeloading._ This kind of quid pro quo would fulfill that requirement.

Barry gave a shrug. “You know what? Fine. What do I do to apply?”

Oliver grinned and clapped Barry on the shoulder. “You come with me, that’s what you do. We’re gonna get you hired by sunrise.”

 _Wait a minute._ “With you?”

Oliver waggled the underwear-like cloth in front of Barry’s face. “These aren’t briefs. They’re trunks. What do you think someone who looks this good does ‘for work’ after midnight?”

Something in Barry’s brain misfired. “I, uh, wait-” He took a deep breath, much to Oliver’s amusement. “You’re a stripper?”

Oliver laughed. “Only two nights a week. Most of the time, I’m a table dancer.” He winked and held up a finger to shush himself. “That’s the NDA part of things. No one can know I work there.”

“What.”

“Well, my parents can’t find out. All the dancers wear masks on the job. All the workers have to sign NDAs so we don’t worry about my identity getting out.”

“Yours, specifically? Why you?”

“My best friend is the club owner. It was his idea, to give me something to do and be free from my family’s business. All my parents know is that I have check stubs to prove I’m working.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow at this. Was he being serious? “That’s…”

“Genius? I know! C’mon, I’m gonna be late as it is. Even though my bud is the owner, I try to be a good employee.”

Oliver grabbed Barry by the elbow and practically dragged him out the door, his protests ignored.


	2. Masques

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry gets a tour of the club and an interview with the owner.

Nevermind the fact that Oliver had a town car waiting for him outside Barry’s apartment. Or the fact that it was manned by a hulk of a man named Diggle. Or the fact that there was a small liquor cabinet  _ inside _ the towncar. Or even the fact that the seats were made of what Barry could only guess to be authentic foreign leather.

Nevermind all that.

Because Oliver was changing into his work clothes en route.

“Close your eyes for a sec,” Oliver instructed from right next to Barry.

“For wha- _ woah _ there,” Barry said, glancing over to see Oliver unzipping his jeans and yanking them down as well as he could in the back of a moving vehicle, all before slapping his hands over his eyes. “Jeez. Warn a guy next time?”

“How many times you wanna watch me get undressed, Barry?” The words were playful. Innocent. But something in them nagged at Barry.

“Just tell me when you’re done,” Barry replied, turning to face out the window. He watched the completely unfamiliar landscapes of Starling City whiz by. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“The bar’s a little place on the outskirts of the Glades,” Diggle replied from the front seat. “It’s called  _ Masques.” _

Barry huffed. “What kind of name is that? Masks? Is that really a name for a-” He faltered, remembering what Oliver had told him. “Oh. I get it.”

“Yup.” Oliver’s shuffling had died down. “Okay, set for work.”

“Am I going to turn around and see you in nothing but briefs?” Barry asked, half worried of the answer.

“You think I’m going to walk into the bar like that? No way, man.”

Barry turned back to look at Oliver, who had put his pants back on over his trunks. His shirt was unbuttoned, though, showcasing an impressive set of abdominals and rather hefty pecs. Barry blinked and looked away, not sure what to make of his situation.

“You can look, you know,” Oliver said, almost gently. “Masques is pretty much a gay bar. I’m used to it.”

Barry nearly choked on his own breath. “Wait, a  _ gay _ bar? You want me to serve at a gay bar?”

Oliver seemed confused. “Yes? Is there a problem with that?”

Barry took a deep breath. “I’ve...I’ve never been to one, that’s all.”

“Barry…” Oliver tilted his head and looked at Barry from a place of suspicion. “You’re not some kind of homophobe, are you?”

He shook his head. “Of course not.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Another deep breath. “It just...wasn’t where I expected  _ you _ to work.”

“Ah, I get it.” Oliver chuckled. “Barry, not everyone working at a gay bar is going to be gay.”

“Are you?” Barry asked, but he suddenly realized the error of his ways. “I am  _ so _ sorry. I don’t know why I blurted that out.”

Oliver shrugged. “I think it’s a fair question. I don’t like labels, but if I had to pick one, it’d be bisexual. Laurel’s my girlfriend, you know.”

“Oh. She...never even implied she was involved with someone,” Barry said.

“Sounds like you’re a little sad about that.” Oliver leaned in and gave him a mischievous grin. “Did you think my girlfriend was hot or something, Barry?”

“Would you beat me to a pulp if I told you I did?”

Oliver’s grin widened. “Nah, man. Laurel’s amazing. I’d think you’re crazy if you didn’t. Either that, or gold-star gay.”

“I think even gay men can see how beautiful women are,” Barry countered with a slight smirk.

The grin softened into a warmer kind of smile. “You’re right.”

“Anyway, how much further?”

“We’re pulling into the garage now,” Diggle replied as Barry felt the car lurch to the right. “Mr. Queen will show you to the boss, and I’ll see you on the floor.”

“On the...wait, what?”

“Dig’s my bodyguard, which means he’s a bouncer for the club any night I’m working,” Oliver said. “And on nights I’m  _ not _ working, you might just see him cage dancing. The man can work a set of chains.”

There was a rumble of a chuckle from Diggle up front.

Masques was a large establishment, almost the size of a hotel, with a large, two-story staged area taking up about a third of that area. It was lavishly decorated, with satin drapery and low, warm lighting everywhere except the main stage. Walkways and what Barry could only guess were the cages could be seen on the second floor, but they seemed to clash with the almost luxurious ground floor. But what surprised Barry the most when he walked in was the  _ smell: _ the bar had a fully staffed kitchen, with a seating area at the back of the main room. Men and women were having full-on dinners on one side of the room while a half-dressed firefighter whipped a prop hose around his neck up on stage on the other. Music thumped through the room, drowning out the cheers from the stage side and applause from the dining side.

Diggle led Oliver and Barry across the main floor to a heavy metal door labeled “Office.”

“See you on the ice, Oliver,” Diggle said as he turned away from the door and over to a changing room. As he shucked his driver’s jacket, Barry realized just how thickly corded with muscle the man was. It was a sight to see.

Oliver reached up and rapped on the door a few times, then pressed a doorbell for good measure. Barry didn’t hear anything like a buzzer or chime, but he was sure the office was soundproofed, what with everything going on outside.

After a moment, the door swung in, revealing a bald, rowdy-looking man with scars and burns across his shoulders and arms. He grunted down at Oliver and Barry with disdain in his eyes.

“Hey, Mick,” Oliver said, patting the man on the shoulder. “Looking especially grumpy tonight. Good. Is Tommy in?”

The guard stepped back and nodded his head rather rudely to the side, allowing the two into the office before slamming the metal door behind them, completely muting the noise from the main floor.

Barry took stock of the office in which he stood: large, circular booths lined both walls of the apartment-sized office space, illuminated by the harsh lights of surveillance camera feeds filling the far wall. One booth had its curtains drawn shut. Barry could smell fried chicken, but didn’t see where it could be. With that in mind, he could only assume that it was in the closed booth, along with-

“Ollie, is that you?”

A dashing young man poked his head out of the curtains and gave a grin at the two of them before whipping open the curtains in a flamboyant display. “Ah, my favorite! The prodigal son returns!” He faked a dramatic sob. “Oh, it’s been far too long-”

“I was here last night, Tommy,” Oliver said with a somewhat annoyed smirk.

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, yeah, but seeing you so often makes me want to be theatrical.”

“Love you, too.” Oliver clapped Barry on the back and pushed him forward. “Hey, brought you some fresh meat for the bar.”

Barry stumbled forward. He’d never been the most poised or graceful person, and being shoved forward in a situation he wasn’t accustomed to didn’t help. He nearly pitched forward right then and there, but he caught his footing before disaster struck. He looked at Tommy, a sheepish smile on his face, and gave a single wave.

Tommy cocked an eyebrow. “Ollie. This kid can barely stand up. You think he can tend bar? And look at him. He looks like he’s sixteen.”

Barry huffed. He usually got called eighteen, thanks.

“He’s twenty-three,” Oliver sad. “Tight little body. The twink lovers would go nuts.”

Tommy appraised Barry for a moment, then nodded a little. “Yeah, he does kind of have that boy next door energy, doesn’t he?” He leaned in and gave Barry a stern look. “You a virgin, kid?”

_ “What?” _ Barry resisted the urge to deck the guy right there. “Isn’t that kind of personal?”

Tommy straightened himself upright and put his chin in one hand as he considered. “So that’s a yes?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not,” Barry muttered. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

Tommy’s eyebrows arched up. “Ah, he’s spunky. Innocent  _ and _ a spitfire. Rare combo.” He circled Barry, eyeing him up and down as he did, a vulture evaluating the carcass before it. “Have you ever tended a bar?”

“No, but I’m good with formulas and recipes,” Barry said. “There are books I can use to learn, right?”

“Hm. Couple points off for lack of experience, but you sound smart enough to learn, and it’s not like we have an immediate need for a server. You could take a few shifts to get your feet wet, no problem. Maybe a Tuesday, just to keep you out of the crowds.”

Tommy nodded in approval. “Okay, kid, one last question.”

Barry readied himself for something absolutely absurd.

With an arrogance Barry had not yet seen from the man, Tommy leaned forward and gave him a sultry look. “Suck me off? I’ll start you at twice your starting wage.”

What?

_ Is this guy serious? _

Ice shot through Barry’s veins and his vision clouded in anger. He steeled himself and took a deep breath.

“I’m out,” Barry said, his jaw clenched tight. “Thanks, Oliver, but your friend is-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tommy said, holding up his hands in an offering of peace. “It was a test. You’d be surprised how often we get people wanting a job here and they think they can just fuck their way to the top.” He scoffed. “Just because we’re in the adult entertainment industry doesn’t mean we’re easy.”

Tommy looked over at Oliver, uncertainty on his face. “How’d you come across this guy? He’s not exactly cut from the same cloth as most of our employees.”

“He moved into the apartment where I’ve been laying low. And he’s friends with Laurel,” Oliver replied with a small shrug.

“Ah.” Tommy closed his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. “I understand.” He gave Barry a side-eye. “You think she’s hot?”

Barry rolled his eyes so hard he was afraid he’d fall over.

“Just a joke. What’s your name, kid?”

Finally, a  _ sensible _ question. “Barry Allen.”

Tommy held out his hand. “Tommy Merlyn. One of Oliver and Laurel’s best, oldest friends. And if they both like you, so do I.”

With more confidence than he felt, Barry took Tommy’s hand in a shake.

“I’m sorry, did I just get the job?” he asked.

Tommy laughed. “We’ll see. Since Ollie brought you here, you might as well enjoy it. Have a few drinks on us. Enjoy the sights. Try the fried chicken. When you’re ready, we’ll have you tour the place and watch our bartender Kendra do her thing.”

“I have to hit the floor,” Oliver said. “I’ll come check in on you, okay, Barry?”

“Uh, sure.”

Oliver clapped Barry on the shoulder again, but this time he gave a little squeeze before moving away. Barry watched him leave, his security line waltzing straight out of the room. When Mick closed the door behind him, a sense of exposure set in on Barry’s stomach. He looked back at Tommy, who had clasped his hands behind his back and taken on a somewhat unreadable expression. It seemed that, without Oliver around, the businessman in Tommy came out.

“Shall we get you acquainted with Kendra, then?” Tommy asked.

“Sure thing. Oh, what should I call you? Mr. Merlyn? Boss? Sir?”

Tommy chuckled. “Tommy is fine, unless you  _ like _ calling me those things. I don’t hate being called them, if you know what I mean.”

Of course. “Is everything around here going to be a sex joke?”

As Tommy moved toward the door, he put an arm around Barry’s shoulders. “Only if you’re lucky.”

When they emerged on the main floor again, Barry noted a significant shift in the atmosphere. The main stage was empty and the lights had dimmed, giving the ground floor more of a dance club feel. Lasers whipped around the room while people danced to the  _ thump-a thump-a  _ in the air. Gaggles of people gathered around various gyrating dancers in various amounts of clothes atop bars and tables. His cheeks heating up, Barry noticed three dancers in turn: a short, muscular man with darker skin in a ski mask and knee-high socks and not much else, a woman in a dark half-face mask and a purple cape clasped at her clavicle, and the physically imposing form of a white man with great abs in a green mask with a bow and arrow strapped across his broad back. Barry recognized the briefs, too: that was definitely Oliver.

“What’s with the outfits?” Barry asked Tommy as they approached the bar.

“The place  _ is  _ called  _ Masques. _ And I assume Oliver told you a little bit about how we do things around here. Well, to keep things interesting-slash-simple, each dancer is given a persona. They come up with them themselves, I just approve of them.” He pointed to each dancer in turn. “That’s Wild Dog, Huntress, and the Green Arrow.”

“So they’re...superheroes?”

“In not so many words, sure. When Ollie wanted to start dancing, he took inspiration from Batman.”

Blood rushed into Barry’s ears. “Batman? Do you think he’s real?”

Tommy laughed. “I don’t really care if he is - he’s the perfect example of anonymity in the public eye. So we made up the Green Arrow and ran with it for the other dancers.”

“That reminds me: the NDA?”

“Oh, we’ll have you sign that if you get the job. You’re pretty closely involved with Oliver and Laurel at this point, so I’m not worried about you blurting things to anyone.” Tommy looked him in the eye, and all joviality was gone. “After all, these are the Glades. You wouldn’t want anything to  _ happen _ to you just because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, right?”

“R-Right.”

The grin returned to the boss’s face. “Glad to hear it.” He looked over to his left and waved a grandiose arm. “Ah, Hawkgirl! I have a trainee for you.”

A woman in a golden half-helmet with flared, feather-like protrusions from the top and tipped, beak-like nose waved at the two of them from behind the bar. Strapped to her back were a small set of brown wings. “Hey there, Boss. New blood?”

“Someone to help you lighten your schedule,” Tommy announced. “This is Barry. Barry, this is Kendra. She goes by Hawkgirl while she’s working.”

“Am I going to have to pick a superhero name?” Barry asked. He wasn’t quite sure he was up to something like that. 

Kendra laughed. “No, I wanted to participate. It makes me feel more connected to the atmosphere. I do suggest it, though. You get more tips if you’re in costume.”

“It’s true,” Tommy affirmed. “Only the dancers are required to dress up, but most of the staff plays along. Even our bouncers have alter egos.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “Really? Diggle?”

“You mean Spartan?” Tommy pointed a thumb at the front door, where a man that was clearly Diggle stood facing away with a modified SWAT helmet on and a fake gun holstered at his side.

Barry took in the atmosphere around him - the dancers, the music, the costumes. It certainly was  _ distracting, _ but also quite fun.

“So, have I hooked you yet, Barry?” Tommy asked.

“I don’t see why I can’t give it a shot,” Barry said, a smile spreading across his face.

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder once more. “Great! Okay, Kendra, he’s all yours for tonight. Show him the ropes, have him meet the kitchen staff, you know the drill. And give him some time to enjoy the show.”

Kendra grinned from underneath her helmet. “You got it, Boss.”

“Have fun, kid. If you need anything, Kendra will help you out.”

Tommy turned on his heel and headed back toward the office, leaving Barry feeling very exposed once more.

Kendra waved him on. “C’mon, new kid, let’s get you warmed up.”

At nearly one in the morning, Kendra finally had Barry take a break. He’d scribbled notes upon notes about various drink mixes and bartending tips.

“As a guy, you either need to be presentable as gay, or hot enough to make guys want you. That’s how you’ll make tips from the guys here. Any women drinking love a bartender who pays attention to them, so keep them topped off.”

“Our beer is actually pretty good, even if it’s a little heady. It’s our top seller, despite all the martini-drinkers in the house.”

“If anyone ever orders the Glades Special from the kitchen, give them a glass of water with their drink. They’ll need it.”

“The boss doesn’t mind too much if we give out drinks, especially to people who win stage competitions. Just don’t go crazy with it, and don’t do it to try to get someone to go home with you. That’s just bad juju.”

“At least once an hour, dancers are required to get a drink of water. Green Arrow keeps a bottle of water with him at his station, but a lot of them don’t, and they take priority over customers. Unless you’re mid-shaker, get them their water.”

It certainly was a lot to take in. Barry could barely keep up with the bombardment of information Kendra gave him, mixed with his observations of the patrons and how the environment shifted every half hour or so. They watched alongside the crowds as another stripper took the stage around midnight, even going so far as to pull up someone from the crowd to dance with. Barry found that questionable, but Kendra assured him that they were boyfriends, so it was okay - the crowds loved the on-stage chemistry.

By the time Kendra put Barry on a break, his feet had begun nagging at him. He decided to sit down for a moment and rest, and was quickly joined at his table by a familiar figure.

“Hey, Barry, enjoying yourself?” Oliver asked. Up close, Barry got a better look at Oliver’s mask - a green, double diamond-shaped mask that did little to obscure much of his face. He saw what looked like facepaint or grease surrounding Oliver’s eyes to complete the mask’s illusion. Without anything obscuring his hair or jaw, Barry wondered how no one had identified him yet. He leaned on the table, his body glistening with sweat and glitter in the low light.

Barry took a swig of the water Kendra had sent him away with. “Yeah, actually. Kendra’s great. I’ve learned a lot.”

Oliver raised his water bottle to his mouth and took a drag from it himself, giving Barry a nice view of his arm flexing as he did so. He sighed, content. “She’s pretty awesome. She’s a med student, though, so her schedule is getting a little hard to handle.”

“Thus the need for a new bartender,” Barry said. Oliver nodded.

“Think you’d be up for a superhero name?”

“I don’t know. Seems a little unnecessary.”

“What a killjoy. Just go with it! I promise, it’s a ton of fun.”

Barry smiled in spite of himself. “We’ll see.”

“It’s not easy, and some patrons can be real jerks, but Tommy’s on our side. He does what he can to make sure we can continue to do our jobs.”

Barry leaned forward. He felt he just had to ask. “What’s it like being a table dancer? Having all those eyes on you?”

There was a slight pause as Oliver considered this question. “It’s pretty empowering. I take a lot of time to make sure I’m in great shape, and it feels great to feel appreciated for that.” He laughed. “When I first started, I kept getting boners on the table from the attention. I guess I like being watched.”

“Really? That wasn’t embarrassing?”

“Are you kidding? The tips you get for dancing hard are  _ triple _ what you get for just dancing. It’s pretty common practice to fluff up before you get on the table.”

“Wow.” None of that surprised Barry, but he felt he needed to contribute somehow. “Do you still dance hard?”

Oliver wiggled an eyebrow at him. “Why, wanna watch?”

Barry cleared his throat and leaned back as Oliver laughed.

“Listen. I’m glad you’re interested in the job. And I’m glad you moved in,” Oliver said, suddenly quite somber. “I party a lot when I’m not working. The tabloids have that part right. It’ll be nice to not feel totally alone if I go back to the apartment drunk.”

“You sound almost lonely,” Barry replied. “What about Laurel and Tommy?”

There was a dejected sigh as a response, and Barry let the subject slide.

Oliver took one more swig of water and stood up, giving Barry a great view of his full torso. “Well, I need to get back to my table. See you in a little bit, Barry.” He put a friendly hand on Barry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before heading off into the crowd. Barry watched his ass gyrate in those tight briefs as he walked away, unaware of how he stared.

“Yeah, he’s pretty,” Kendra said from behind him with a sigh. “Too bad he’s taken.”

Barry jostled himself back to the present. “Oh, Green Arrow? Yeah. I guess.”

“You guess,” she laughed, “you were practically drooling.”

Heat flooded his cheeks as Barry cleared his throat and stood up from the table. “Okay, okay, back to training.”

Kendra gave a little salute as she giggled. “Yessir.”

Diggle approached the bar around three that morning and told Barry they were heading out for the night. By the time they made it back to the apartment, both Barry and Oliver had fallen asleep in the back seat. When the car lurched forward in its stop at the apartment, Barry jolted awake. He felt a large weight on his shoulder, which only confused him long enough to look over and see Oliver’s head leaning on him, eyes closed and breathing deep.

“Welcome home, Mr. Allen,” Diggle said into the rear-view memory.

“Thank you for driving me,” Barry said. “Is Oliver okay?”

“Mr. Queen’s been busier than usual as of late. I asked the boss to pull him off the floor early tonight, both for his sake and your own.”

“Do you really call everyone by their last name like that? You can just call me Barry.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Allen, but when I’m driving, I’m employed by Mr. Queen. We don’t always keep up the formalities. But behind the wheel, it’s professional time.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Barry patted Oliver on the shoulder a few times and moved out from under his head, jerking him awake with gravity.

“Oh. We’re home. I must have been more exhausted than I thought,” Oliver said with a yawn. “Thanks, Dig.”

“Sure thing.”

The two disembarked and Diggle pulled the car around to head out. “Get some rest,” he told Barry before driving off, “because it’s going to pile up until you do.”

Barry waved Diggle off as he drove away and Oliver staggered toward the door.

Once inside, Oliver collapsed onto the sofa, as usual.

“Oliver, get up,” Barry ordered, pulling on the leg Oliver had allowed to drape over the arm of the couch. “Get in bed.”

Oliver’s voice was muffled by the couch cushion. “I am in bed.”

“You are not, and you’re going to get a crick in your neck sleeping like that. C’mon.”

There was a moan in protest, but he allowed Barry to roll him off the couch and onto his feet. Barry helped deposit him into the unused bedroom, stripped him down to his briefs and helped him into bed.

“You’re acting like I’m drunk,” Oliver said, his words slightly slurred by sleep. “I’m not drunk. I’m just sleepy.”

“Same thing, according to driving laws,” Barry said. “Just get some sleep. I don’t go into the precinct tomorrow, so I’ll make us some breakfast, okay?”

Oliver smiled and rolled onto his side, curling into the blanket. “That’s so nice of you. You don’t have to do that.”

Barry patted Oliver on the knee. “You got me a job on the spot. I owe you.”

“Just let me stay the night when I want, and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal, then. But I’m going to want some real food after tonight, so breakfast is still on me, okay?”

“I hear you.”

“Well, good night, then,” Barry said as he turned off the lights.

Oliver’s voice was surprisingly clear in the still of the dark. “Hey, Barry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you moved in. I think I needed a roommate.”

Barry chuckled. “I’m glad I moved in, too. I think I needed some friends.”

And with that, lights were out for them both.


	3. The Courtesan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world of Masques continues to open up to Barry - this time, through Leonard Snart.

Barry was true to his word. When Oliver woke up the next morning, he was presented with eggs, bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Plus some yogurt if he wanted something sweet.

“I could get used to this,” he said, plopping down next to his new roommate and promptly digging in. “Oh, man. This is good! Barry, you’ve got some talent!”

“It’s what happens when you live in foster care - you learn to fend for yourself,” Barry replied.

Oliver gulped hard. “You’re a foster kid?”

“Yeah.” Barry took a bite of his own food. “I’d rather not talk about it right now, if that’s okay.”

“Sure, yeah.”

They ate in contented silence for most of the rest of the meal, only Oliver’s sporadic compliments about the food interrupting the moment.

About the time Barry was finishing up, he looked over at Oliver. “Hey, do you mind if I ask you a question about the club?”

“Shoot.”

“So, uh, are there VIP rooms?” he asked. “I’ve heard of some clubs having things like private viewing rooms.”

“Well, the third floor is basically a brothel,” Oliver said. “We typically don’t bump elbows with that lot. They’re...a lot to take in, sometimes. We can use those facilities if we want, though.”

Barry stood up to take his setting to the kitchen. “You mean with patrons?”

Oliver shook his head. “What? No! We can rent the rooms for ourselves, but it has to be in advance. There’s a strict no-sex rule with patrons during work. Our jobs are to dance or strip, not bone people. We have a dedicated staff for that. If we want to be intimate with a patron, it has to be on our own time.”

“That makes it feel so...dirty,” Barry muttered as he washed his plate. “Is prostitution even legal in Starling?”

Oliver took a swig of juice. “Now you know why the third floor workers don’t mix well with us.”

“So we have dancers, strippers, and, uh-”

“We call them courtesans. Or, at least, Tommy does.”

“Okay. Courtesans. Anything else I should know?”

Oliver thought about this for a moment. “There’s a lead member of each group, usually the one who’s making Tommy the most money. I’m the lead dancer, while Atom and Cold are the lead stripper and courtesan. You’d like Atom. Smart guy, a real charmer. But I don’t think you and Cold would get along.”

“Why not?”

“That man is _all_ business, and hates everything that goes down on the first floor because we’re capable of making more money than he is.”

“Why is that? Can’t he dance, too?”

“He tried. He wasn’t a big hit. He’s a little older, and that doesn’t translate well to tipping. He has a very dedicated clientele up on the third floor. He actually makes _insane_ money for as much work as he does each week, but still-”

“Jealousy? In the adult entertainment industry?” Barry asked, fake-astounded.

“More likely than you think,” Oliver replied with a grin.

“Anything else for now?” Barry asked.

“Don’t order the Glades Special. Or do, if you’re feeling adventurous and don’t have a hot date planned.”

It took him a moment, but Barry’s cheeks signaled his understanding.

Barry wasn’t sure if he and Oliver were “friends” yet, but Oliver seemed pretty convinced they were. By the time dinner rolled around, Barry had been bought a new dressy jacket to wear to a restaurant alongside Oliver, Diggle, Tommy, and Laurel, a group he _never_ thought he’d ever be able to fit in with.

As Diggle led the way into the restaurant ahead of Oliver and Barry, the former pulled the latter aside for a quick word.

“What’s going on?” Barry asked.

“Don’t mention working at the bar,” Oliver said. “Laurel doesn’t really _approve_ of me working there, even if she helps me cover for it. And I really don’t think she’d approve of me getting you hired there, too.”

Barry nodded his understanding. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

Oliver smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

When they joined the others at their table, Oliver helped Barry sit down before moving to the empty seat next to Laurel. As he sat down, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. Barry sat next to Tommy, whose cologne was sweet, but musky. Diggle sat at the end of the table, looking over the menu already.

“It’s nice to see you again, Barry,” Laurel said. She looked stunning in a dinner dress with a long chain necklace draped around her shoulders a few times. “How is your job hunt going?”

Barry smiled at her, then Oliver, before saying, “I have some prospects. Hopefully to know for sure by the weekend.”

Tommy grinned over at him. “Yeah? You think?”

Barry gave a little shrug. “I hope.”

“That’s great,” Laurel said, reaching across the table and patting Barry on the hand. “I’m glad you’re settling in so well!” She leaned back and jerked a thumb in Oliver’s direction. “Is this jerk being nice to you?”

There was a nervous laugh in response. “I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t,” Barry said, indicating the restaurant. “I’ve set foot in a place this fancy all of three times in my life: for prom, for graduation, and for acceptance to CCU.”

“No big deal, Barry, you deserve to be treated to a nice meal,” Oliver said, not looking directly at him. Instead, he was poring over the menu. Then, to Laurel, “They never took my advice and put pizza on the menu. I’m offended.”

“This isn’t an Italian restaurant, Ollie.”

“My point stands.”

Barry felt some shuffling around his shoulders, finding Tommy’s arm draped over the back of his chair. “Hi. Tommy Merlyn,” he said with a wink and a grin.

Oh. Right. Barry shouldn’t know Tommy yet.

“Barry Allen.”

“Tommy, stop,” Laurel chided.

He scoffed. “I’m just saying hello!”

“You never _just_ say hello.”

Barry snickered, which Tommy echoed. “She’s not wrong.” Barry felt a squeeze on his shoulder, to which he just smiled.

“Tommy is one of my oldest friends,” Laurel explained. “The three of us have been friends since middle school.”

“Longer for me and Ollie,” Tommy replied. “Our families have been friends since we were just out of diapers.”

“Way to fly the ‘longer friends’ banner, there, Tommy,” Oliver said with a chuckle.

Barry opened his mouth to speak, but their server approaching the table interrupted him. They ordered their drinks and set bout finding their meals, and dinner proceeded as expected. Barry realized about halfway through that Tommy had somehow managed to scoot a little closer to him throughout the meal, and soon they were fighting for shoulder space.

“You’re kind of close,” Barry said.

“Oh, sorry. You’re right.” Tommy shuffled away a little. “My bad. You’re just so attractive.”

Laurel nearly choked on her drink. “Tommy, no.”

Oliver was laughing under his breath. “That was terrible.”

“It only took him fifteen minutes to notice I was closing in,” Tommy replied. “Maybe he _liked_ me getting closer?”

Once again, someone approaching the table interrupted Barry’s retort, but this time, it was no server.

“Evening, lady and gents.” Their voice was smooth, with an air of sophistication that Barry could barely believe was natural. Barry looked up at the source, a somewhat older gentleman with short-cropped hair and a smirk that betrayed any sense of humility the man may have been trying to convey. “It’s lovely to see you all.”

“Evening, Leonard,” Tommy said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, it’s my favorite eatery on the East Side, Mr. Merlyn,” Leonard said, his words long and intentional.

Barry surveyed his surroundings. This restaurant had crystalline chandeliers. He’d hardly call it an “eatery.”

“Miss Lance, lovely as always,” Leonard added, dipping his head in Laurel’s direction. “It’s a shame we couldn’t come together. I was just on my way out.”

“Shame,” Laurel said, her voice clipped. She took Oliver’s hand in plain view. Leonard seemed to notice, and his smirk faltered to more of a sneer.

“Well, I’ll just be on my way, then. Wouldn’t want to interrupt a cheery meeting.” He bowed his head to everyone in turn, but stopped when he got to Barry. “Oh. Oh _my._ Who is this?”

Tommy slung an arm over Barry’s shoulders once again. “He’s my date. Leonard, this is Barry Allen. Barry, Leonard Snart.”

“Your date,” Leonard said quietly. His eyes darted all over Barry’s face, like he was trying to memorize it. Barry could almost see the cogs whirring behind his expression. “I’d not thought of you as one in the market for children, Mr. Merlyn.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Barry muttered, sinking a little lower in his chair.

“Oh, my mistake, Mister Allen. I beg your pardon. It’s just that I never see Mr. Merlyn with anyone _of_ _note,_ but today seems to be an exception, I expected you to be family of some sort.”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Snart,” Diggle said from the far end of the table. He’d stood to his full height and was staring Leonard down with his hands firmly in his pockets.

Leonard tipped his head one last time. “I know when to bow out. Good evening, everyone. And a pleasure meeting you, Mister Allen.” And with that, he sauntered away.

As Diggle sat back down, Barry looked at Tommy. “Thanks. Who was that guy?”

“Leonard Snart,” Tommy muttered, his voice dripping with annoyance. “He’s one of my employees.”

“And he treats you like _that?”_ Barry asked.

Laurel crossed her arms and gave Tommy a hard stare. “I agree.”

Tommy raised a hand in defeat. “Hey, I’ve always been one to preach separation of work and personal time, and he’s an excellent employee. His personal feelings about me or the people I date don’t come into question when he’s on the job.”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “His ‘job’ is hardly worth keeping him around.”

“Maybe, but losing him would be a big blow to our earnings,” Tommy said. “I’d have to go to my board to get rid of an asset as large as him without a direct, on-the-clock reason.”

“Businesses are stupid,” Laurel muttered. “Well not _all_ businesses. Just yours.”

Tommy gave her a sarcastic smile. “Love you too, Laurel.”

Barry suddenly realized: “You can move your arm now.”

“Aw, but it was so comfy.”

Dinner had concluded without additional incident, although Diggle did get a call from his wife Lyla in the middle of it. Considering he was a cage dancer over at Masques, Barry was mildly surprised to hear he was married. To a woman.

Barry would have to keep his assumptions in check from here on.

Everyone said goodbye to Laurel and began to head their separate ways, but before they did, Barry had a burning question.

“So,” he said, after waiting for Laurel to be out of earshot, “that Snart guy. He works for you?”

“He’s a courtesan,” Tommy replied. He adjusted his jacket and started picking lint off of himself. “He’s actually our highest-earning courtesan. He goes by Captain Cold.”

“Oliver told me I probably wouldn’t like Cold,” Barry said. “I guess he was right.”

“Snart is a vulture,” Oliver said, his voice a low growl. “He thinks that he can do whatever he wants because he’s our best gigolo.”

Tommy shot Oliver a nasty look, who pretended not to see. Obviously, “gigolo” was a bit of a curse word.

“So, do you work tonight?” Barry asked Oliver.

“Nope, not tonight. But I can have Diggle drop you off at the club if Tommy wants you for training.”

Tommy shrugged. “That’s up to the new kid. He’s not on payroll as of yet, and won’t be until he gets a handle on things, so-”

“I’ll be there,” Barry said. He felt the pull of the smile on his face, but was almost confused by it. Did he really like being at a strip club that much?

His surprise was mirrored by both Oliver and Tommy. “Well then,” Tommy said with a grin, “I guess I’ll be seeing you there.” He looked at Diggle and shook a finger at him. “Make sure my new asset is taken care of, right, Mr. Diggle?”

Diggle chuckled. “Of course, _Sir.”_

Tommy reached out and gave Diggle a big hug, which the man returned. “Thanks for bringing both of them to dinner. And thanks for coming, yourself. It’s always great to have you.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it, man.”

“Shall we get moving, then?” Oliver asked, looking at his watch. “Tommy prefer his employees to be on time, after all.”

“Says the man who’s habitually ten minutes late,” Tommy shot back. “Okay, okay, go get changed into something more...bartendery.” He gave Oliver a quick hug, gave Barry a couple finger guns, and headed off to his own waiting town car.

“I like Tommy,” Barry said as they piled into the car.

“Just don’t get too close,” Oliver warned. “He’s got a habit of breaking hearts.”

“I can believe it. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though.”

Oliver didn’t seem so sure.

With Diggle behind the wheel, they headed out. Within the hour, Barry found himself standing on the main floor of Masques once more, noting just how empty the place was at this early hour.

“Barry!”

Kendra’s voice was chipper as she waved at him from behind the bar. She was already in her costume, although she had not yet put on her helmet, allowing Barry to see the loose curls of her voluminous hair. It was gorgeous, and he wondered what kind of Time Lord technology allowed her helmet to fit it all inside.

“Evening,” he said as he approached, smile in full gear. “Ready to give more life lessons?”

Kendra almost flinched. “It’s Thursday, Barry. It’s our roughest night outside of the weekend. I won’t have a ton of time to stop to talk. I hope you can keep up.”

He nodded and draped a cleaning cloth over his shoulder. He certainly looked the part, minus the bartender mustache. “How about I go on dish duty once we get busy? I can watch from the sink and keep your glasses clean.”

Kendra grinned over at him. “You’re a smart guy, Barry. Let’s do this.”

Barry just grinned.

When Kendra had said Thursdays were “rough,” she may have been underestimating things. The crowds started filtering in a little closer to midnight, but once they started, they didn’t stop. Masques took on its dance club atmosphere at the stroke of midnight and didn’t let up until close to four in the morning, when the crowds began to head out.

Around that time, Tommy appeared at the bar with a busty brunette, obviously enjoying himself. Barry watched distantly as he cleaned a beer mug. Kendra snapped to action the moment Tommy’s butt hit the stool - within ten seconds, he had a colorful drink in front of him.

“How’s our new asset?” Tommy asked as he booped the brunette on the nose. She grinned at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“The kid’s a natural,” Kendra said. “Around two, I started getting overwhelmed and he handled a ton of simple orders like he’d been tending for two weeks.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Kendra turned to Barry and called out, “I need a Secret Identity!”

Barry nearly dropped the beer mug in his hand, he started moving so quickly. As he moved, he recalled where all the ingredients were and appropriate ratios, deftly snagging what he needed all in seemingly one fluid motion. The Secret Identity wasn’t a difficult recipe, only a total of three ingredients, but it was a layered cocktail and getting them out of order fouled up the taste something terrible. It was something about how the first two drinks mixed, compared to mixing with the third out of order.

He slid the drink to Kendra as soon as he could, all eyes on the glass as it came to rest directly in front of Tommy. Tommy handed the cocktail to his brunette friend, who took a sip with gusto.

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “This is really good.”

Tommy borrowed the drink for a sip. He smacked his lips a little, considering. “Okay. Not bad, kid. Very impressive for your second night.”

Barry grinned.

“Barry’s really got the basics down already,” Kendra said, crossing her arms. “I’m jealous. It took me way longer to get to his level. And he does things _so fast._ It’s fun to watch.”

“A regular little speed demon,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Maybe that can be your alter ego.”

“Speed Demon?” Barry grimaced. “Do I have to?”

His new boss shook his head. “No, you come up with it. I just approve it. Just...trying to seed some ideas. Think of something quick, though. The sooner we give you a name, the sooner you start raking in the tips.”

“Okay then.” There was that smile again, stretching Barry’s cheeks. Why was he enjoying this so much? Was it just the validation of others? The idea that he was a natural at something? Was it the company? He couldn’t be sure - maybe it was all of these things, all at once.

Tommy started to go back to schmoozing with his little lady friend, but something caught his eye. Following his gaze, Barry saw a familiar form sauntering across the main floor: clad in a heavy blue overcoat with fur lining left open to reveal a nicely defined, nearly-hairless torso and nice, designer jeans was the almost lanky form of Leonard Snart. On one of his hands twirled a pair of black goggles. On his face was that familiar snarky expression from the restaurant.

“Good morning, everyone,” he announced as he approached the bar. “Kendra, dearest, might I get a glass of water?” She snapped to action once more. “Thanks, love.”

“How’d your night go?” Tommy asked.

“About as well as you’d expect on a Thursday,” Leonard replied with a slight sneer. “I swear, these people don’t know a good time when they see one.”

Tommy absentmindedly took a swig of his lady friend’s drink - the one Barry had mixed. “And the others?”

Leonard sighed. “They fared a little better than I did, I’m afraid.”

Tommy tilted his head in mock sympathy. “Aw, is Chilly Billy upset he didn’t get much willy tonight?”

There was almost a growling noise from Leonard. “I will mar that perfect face right here and now, Merlyn.”

“Not in front of the new blood,” Tommy replied, jerking a thumb at Barry. “I expect you remember Barry from this afternoon?”

Leonard gave Barry a curious side-eye. “Ah, the ‘date.’ It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Allen.”

Barry gave a nod in reply, but said nothing. If he was being honest, Leonard’s open coat was quite distracting, and he was afraid he’d say something stupid if he spoke. Unfortunately, Leonard seemed to notice. He flapped one side of his coat open more to place a hand on his hip. Barry could see the curvature of his girdle leading down into his jeans, which fit quite well, showcasing ample curves in all sorts of alluring places. The man clearly knew how to dress to impress.

And, if Barry were being completely honest, the confidence was kind of a turn-on.

“Looks like your date has taken a liking to something he sees,” Leonard said. His voice had almost a hypnotic lilt to it, simply adding to the almost ethereal way he held himself.

“Tell him your rates to keep him from getting any ideas,” Tommy said, unamused.

Leonard’s lip curled in a sneer as he straightened to his full height. “They’re _your_ rates. I’ve _tried_ to be more affordable, but you keep vetoing it. You’re trying to send my clients elsewhere!” The lilt in his voice was gone, instead turning to a forceful snarl.

“You’re projecting your failures onto me. It’s not my fault you’re not getting any.”

This time, there was a low growl from the courtesan. “If you’ll excuse me.” He took a long swig of water from the water Kendra placed in front of him. “Thank you, dearest,” he said before storming away, the saunter in his gait turned into frustrated stomps. Barry just chuckled after him.

“He’s gonna quit and take his clients with him,” Kendra warned with a shake of her head.

“You let me worry about that, Ken.” Tommy took a final drag from the Secret Identity. “Man. This was actually really good.” He raised the glass at Barry. “Kudos, kid.”

Kendra smiled. “What did I say? Barry’s a natural.”

He wasn’t sure why that made him so happy, but Barry let himself smile in response.

Later that morning, Barry nearly floated in through the front door of the apartment, grinning ear to ear.

“Oliver? You up?” he called.

No answer.

Barry cracked the door into the spare bedroom to look for Oliver, but his search resulted in failure. Oliver must not have crashed there last night after all. This realization put a small damper on his good mood, but Barry shrugged it off. He’d be able to tell Oliver about having such a good shift later on, he was sure.

As he settled in for a morning nap, Barry sighed to himself. He wasn’t quite sure what about his situation made him smile so much, but he couldn’t ignore how great he felt. It wasn’t being surrounded by nearly naked bodies - it was the _people_ he’d met and the personalities he witnessed. Even Leonard was _interesting,_ even if he didn’t seem to be the best guy to befriend.

Barry wondered what tomorrow night would bring.


	4. Friday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry encounters his greatest challenge yet: the Friday crowd.

“You think you’re ready for this?” Oliver asked as he put two bottles of water in the work bag Barry had manifested. Oliver had shown up mid-afternoon mostly sober but in need of a shower and a nap, so he’d passed out in the free bedroom while Barry went about his day. He awoke a few hours later, as Barry was preparing a bag to hide behind the bar - some snacks and water, mainly - and had jumped at the opportunity to help his new friend get ready.

“What do you mean?” Barry asked, trying his best to not pay attention to the fact that Oliver had emerged from the bedroom in nothing but a pair of lounge shorts that didn’t really hide much.

“It’s Friday. It’s our busiest night of the week.”

The bag was getting full of bottled water. “I’m just there to help keep the pressure off of Kendra. I’m not even an official employee yet.”

That was the truth - he’d been there two nights already, helping Kendra, with no official paperwork filed. He was hoping to discuss this with Tommy at some point tonight, but the way Oliver was talking, it didn’t sound like he’d have much opportunity.

“The crowds don’t know the difference,” Oliver replied as he donned a shirt that was probably a little too tight. Barry tried not to notice how it stretched across his torso in so many different directions.

“I’ll have Kendra there. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure, sure. Just...don’t overdo it, okay? Remember to take breaks.”

Barry cocked an eyebrow and a smirk. “You worried about me?”

There was a simple shrug in return. “Well, yeah.”

All the humor fell away. Oliver looked Barry in the eye, his expression as far from joking as possible. There was a single hammerfall in Barry’s chest as his heart skipped a beat.

“It’s just tending bar,” Barry almost stuttered as he zipped up the bag. Oof. It was heavy. Probably too many bottles of water. Oh well, he can share with the dancers if they need some.

A strong hand gripped Barry’s wrist, pulling his attention back up to Oliver’s stern gaze. “I’m serious, Barry. It gets rough on the weekend. I want you to take care of yourself.”

There was a momentary pause in time, where Barry and Oliver stared into each other’s eyes, concern in one gaze and confusion in another. Eventually time started up again. Oliver looked down at his hand on Barry’s arm. After a brief pause, he let go. It almost looked as though he was ashamed of the contact. Barry watched him turn away and head back to the bedroom.

“You’re right,” he said, not looking back at Barry. His voice seemed to struggle to reach Barry’s ears. “You’ll be fine. Just stick with Kendra.”

He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Barry looking after him in even more confusion than before.

It wasn’t a joke.

It was barely nine in the evening as Diggle pulled the car up to the club, and Barry could see the line of patrons waiting to get in wrapping around Masques like an iPhone release. It was  _ nuts. _ He was a fast learner, but could he really help with  _ that? _

Somewhat stupefied, Barry just gaped out his window. “I, uh-”

Oliver shook his head. “I’m not the ‘I told you so’ type, but-”

“Did you  _ really _ just say those words?” Diggle asked into the rearview mirror. Laughter filled the car, some of the tension lifting from Barry’s chest.

“Anything else I should know about working Fridays?” Barry asked as Diggle parked.

Oliver considered this. “Oh. Uh. One of our weekend bartenders is a little distracting. Just stay focused.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

They made their way inside and separated as was becoming normal, with Barry heading toward the bar with his work bag slung over his shoulder. He noticed Kendra to the side just as she put on her helmet, waving as he approached.

“Barry! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said with that flashy, beautiful smile of hers. “You haven’t met the other weekend bartender yet, have you?”

“I have not.”

“I thought not.” She leaned back toward the kitchen and yelled, “Hey, Carter, you coming, or what?”

“Sorry, sorry, just grabbing a pre-shift snack.” A second hawk-styled helmet poked out of the kitchen and looked over at Kendra. Beneath it, a chiseled, handsome chin supported a second dazzling smile. Carter emerged with a small pile of chicken wings on a plate, but the plate was not what Barry’s eyes were drawn to. The man clearly loved the gym, and the Egyptian-styled kilt around his waist showed off every inch of his upper body. Strapped to his back were two brown hawk wings, similar to Kendra’s, but considerably larger, their harness pressing into his chest in all the right ways to accent its muscularity.

“You and your protein,” Kendra laughed. She motioned to Barry to come over. “Carter, this is Barry. Barry, Carter. He’s my partner.”

“One of them,” Carter corrected, digging into a chicken wing with gusto.

“I like the matching outfits,” Barry said, pouring all his efforts into facing Kendra instead of allowing his eyes to roam over Carter’s body.

“It was Carter’s idea to match. Can’t get him to agree on smaller wings, though.”

Carter scowled. “I don’t  _ do _ small, Kendra.”

“Obviously,” Barry said with a laugh. Carter gave him a confused look and his blood ran cold. He gave a pained grin, his stomach tying itself into a knot. “Sorry.”

Carter shrugged and went back to chomping on his snack.

“Let’s get into position, they’re gonna open the doors here in a sec.” Kendra led Barry behind the bar and, with Carter’s somewhat hindered assistance (there’s only so much you can do with chicken grease on your fingers), started setting up. Barry made sure to keep Kendra between him and Carter, just to block the view. Oliver had not been kidding - the man was hot, and a total distraction. It bothered Barry a little that he was letting himself be distracted by such shallow observations, but he shook it off. For now, he had work to do.

The doors opened at nine-thirty, and the bar didn’t calm down enough for a break until about one. During that time, Barry had seen so many body shots (including one off of Carter’s abs at around midnight - something he’d certainly not hated watching and would likely not forget any time soon) and assisted so many dancers with water, he forced himself to become numb to the things around him. The eye candy was everywhere, but there was work to be done.

At long last, he was allowed to collapse onto a chair in a small break room with a bottle of water, sweat sticking his shirt to his chest. There were so many bodies out there, it was stifling even with the AC pumping. He was sure that the entire population of the Glades had somehow fit itself into the club. Barry sat there for quite some time, his vision moving in and out of focus as he monitored his exhaustion. There would have to be change in his sleep schedule to keep this job.

“Everything going okay out there?”

He looked up from his stupor to see Tommy in his normal business attire looking down at him with concern. He tilted his head to get a better look at him, going so far as to bend down until their faces were only a few inches apart.

“You okay, Barry? You look a little dazed.”

“I’m fine,” Barry said, leaning back. Why’d he have to get so close? “It’s just been go, go, go, all night. Oliver tried to warn me, but it still took me by surprise.”

“Well, catch your breath,” Tommy said, standing back up and patting him on the shoulder. “Kendra tells me you’ve really got things down. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.” He took a swig from his water bottle. “Is every Friday like this?”

“Yup.” Tommy took a seat across the table from him. He really stood out with all the half-naked workers scattered around the break room, being in a full business suit. The sight made Barry smile.

His smile was noticed. “Something funny?”

“Nothing, you just...look like you’re going to a business lunch downtown or something, not sitting in the break room of a strip club.”

Tommy adjusted his tie. “I try to maintain an air of professionalism amidst all the chaos. The adult entertainment business is weird. It can be very dangerous, too. I want to be a person anyone can come to if they feel like they’re being taken advantage of, or if I need to hire some muscle to protect my dancers or courtesans. I’m the boss, and I want everyone outside the club to know it.”

His answer wasn’t rehearsed - it was genuine. “That’s impressive,” Barry replied. “I’m glad to work for someone who cares about his workers so much.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Tommy said. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a flash drive, tossing it to Barry. “Application is on there. Just edit it and give it back tomorrow and we’ll get your paperwork drawn up. You’ll be fully compensated for tonight, by the way.”

Barry laughed as he pocketed the drive. “Good. I can’t make tips, after all.”

Tommy made a little whining noise, shaking his head back and forth. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Huh?”

“Kendra’s been keeping all the tips people have wanted to go to you separate from her own. It’s evidently quite a haul for a first night, from what I hear. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He hadn’t noticed Kendra accepting money from  _ anyone,  _ let alone money people were giving for Barry. How did she-

“You’re cute,” Tommy said, his voice very matter-of-fact. “Really cute.”

There was that annoying heat in his cheeks again. “I’m not-”

“Someone even asked me if I’d started hiring teenagers,” Tommy said with a laugh.

That again? “I’m twenty-three.”

“I know. Doesn’t make the compliment any less impactful, or the money less real.”

Mostly to avoid acknowledging such commentary, Barry checked the clock on the wall. “I should be getting back to the bar,” he said, lifting himself onto somewhat stiffened legs. Ugh. He’d have to start working out just to stand all night, at this point.

Tommy looked almost hurt. “Aw, don’t want to stay a few more minutes?”

Barry picked up his bag from the table and slung it over his shoulder. “I should go. Kendra and Carter need me.”

“If you insist.” He felt Tommy’s eyes on him as he left the room, only furthering how red his cheeks must have been.

As he approached the bar, he noticed the Green Arrow standing nearby, watching the bar with defiant hands on his hips.

“Arrow? Do you need something?” Barry asked as he tossed his bag on the floor behind the bar.

“There you are,” Oliver replied. “I was worried when I didn’t see you working. Everything good?” He put a hand on Barry’s shoulder as he spoke. He could see Oliver’s bright eyes from underneath the mask, and they were filled with worry.

The concern was sweet, but was starting to feel a little suffocating. “You and the boss are a little overprotective, you know that? I’m fine.”

Oliver let his hand slip off of Barry’s shoulder as the latter moved away toward the bar. “I know, it’s just…I’ve never had someone start working here because of me. I don’t want them to hate it.”

Barry tossed him a bottled water. “You’re missing your tips, GA. There’s a table with your name on it over there. I promise, I’ll be here when things die down.”

“Barry, you back? I could use a hand,” Carter called.

Oliver pointed at Carter, but his eyes were wide and locked on Barry. The meaning was clear -  _ careful. _ Barry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Hawkman, I’m back.” He waved Oliver off. “Get over there and earn your rent.”

Oliver chuckled as he turned back toward the floor.

At around two, the crowds finally started dying down enough that Barry was allowed to take a longer break, although the club was still quite full. He grabbed some food from the kitchen and decided to eat out on the floor, where he could watch the crowds and finally take in the atmosphere. People crowded the dance floor as the morning DJ did their job, with the  _ thumpa-thumpa  _ and lasers keeping the energy amped up. If Barry could remember the schedule correctly, there was one more strip show in about an hour, then the club would start to wind down.

Just as he was getting comfortable, a sultry voice called out from somewhere next to him. “Is this seat taken?”

Barry looked over to see Leonard Snart, clad in his open parka as usual, indicating the chair on the right side of Barry’s table. He  _ wanted _ to say it was reserved, but couldn’t bring himself to lie. Leonard looked downright polite, simply waiting for Barry’s answer.

“No, it’s free.”

In one fluid motion, Leonard pulled out the chair and twisted down into it, pulling it up to the table. He leaned forward and gave Barry a surprisingly warm smile.

“How has your first Friday been going, Mr. Allen?” All the snark was gone from his voice. He sounded... _ normal. _

The way he was looking at Barry was very inviting. Gone was the sarcastic persona from earlier that week. Barry’s shoulders relaxed a little. “It’s fine. Busy. Tough.” He chuckled to himself. “Everyone’s treating me like I’m a baby bird, worrying that it’s too much for me or something.”

“Everyone is?” Leonard’s head tilted in curiosity.

“The boss and O-” Barry stopped himself, issuing a raised eyebrow from Leonard. No one was supposed to know Oliver worked there. “-all my dancer friends. They mean well, but I can’t get used to it if they keep hovering like they are.”

“As much as I dislike Merlyn, when he cares about you, he  _ really _ cares about you,” Leonard replied with a sigh. “It can be infuriating to watch him dote on new blood. Just tolerate it for a little while and prove to him you can handle it, and he’ll back off.”

Huh. Sensible advice. Barry gave Leonard a somewhat suspicious side-eye. “You’re pretty different tonight.”

His head leaned to the side and a snarky smirk appeared on his face. “Oh?”

“You’re actually being nice.”

There was a shrug in response. “I suppose Thomas brings out the worst in me. I can’t stand being talked down to, you see. My father made a habit out of it, and I just can’t bring myself to enjoy being around others who do it.”

That was...oddly personal. “I, uh-”

“I could always go back to passive aggressive remarks while I undress you with my eyes, if that’s easier for you.”

Barry was starting to get annoyed at how often he blushed around here. “I’d rather you not, thanks.”

Leonard’s smirk mutated into a somewhat warm smile. “Then I guess you’ll have to deal with me ‘being nice,’ Mr. Allen.”

Barry hesitated, but looking at Leonard’s face gave him reason to smile. “You can call me Barry.”

Leonard lowered his head in reverence. “Well, then, Barry, it’s nice to truly meet you. My friends call me Len.”

“Are we friends already?”

“I’d like to think we could be.”

Each of them chuckled, content. This was nice, just relaxing and not being interrogated about work. Leonard -  _ Len _ \- seemed to know how to avoid being stressed at work. Barry could appreciate that.

Len looked around, surveying the still-bustling crowds. “So, see anything you like?” he asked. “Any of the dancers catch your eye?”

That was a shift. No one had asked Barry for an opinion like that yet. “I, uh, don’t think so.”

There was a brief moment of amused silence as Len looked Barry’s face up and down. “Not into men? There are female dancers, too.”

Barry cleared his throat. “No, I, uh-” He’d never really admitted this out loud, although it wasn’t exactly a secret back home. “I like guys. I guess I’m just trying to keep my opinions reigned in. This is work, after all. Those are coworkers.”

“Barry.” Len’s voice carried with it the dancing tone of someone who was laughing without laughing. “No one’s going to tell you to stay away from coworkers in this industry. If you find someone attractive and make a connection with them, go for it. Loneliness is the enemy.”

“I don’t know…”

“Just give it some thought. It’s not as terrible a concept as you’ve probably been led to believe.” Len leaned back in his chair and continued to survey the room, his jacket slipping further open in the maneuver. Barry’s eyes were again drawn to the well-sculpted torso before him. In the low lights, the curves of Len’s abdominals and chest reflected the brighter stage lights well. His chest rose and fell with each breath. He absentmindedly reached up and flicked away an itch on his stomach, drawing attention to the deep cut between his abs.

Barry swallowed hard, then averted his eyes.

After a moment, “Well, this has been fun, but I fear I must return to my cave.” Len sighed. “I miss this energy. It’s too quiet up on the Third. Well, not  _ quiet _ \- there’s plenty of  _ noise, _ but it’s all grunts and moans, not music and partying. It’s a different world down here.”

“No one’s told me much about the third floor,” Barry replied. “What’s it like up there?”

Len chuckled. “It’s luxurious. Some of the courtesans prefer sleeping there to their own homes. Satin pillows and soft, easily cleaned bedsheets as far as the eye can see.”

“How many courtesans are there?” Now that he was talking to Len like this, Barry found himself quite curious about the mythical Third Floor.

The courtesan in front of him didn’t seem to mind the interrogation, judging from his amused smirk. “Ten, although we only have four on hand in a given night.” 

“Are there different rooms based on kink-”

Len put a hand on his shoulder to silence him. “Barry. I have to go. Finish your little meal and get back behind the bar. Make a good impression. I want you around for a while. It’ll give me a reason to come down and visit.”

Barry let himself smile a little wider. “Sure. Good luck.”

Len indicated his body and his smirk mutated into pure confidence, sneaking just past the line to cockiness. “When you look this good, there  _ is _ no bad luck.” He gave Barry’s shoulder a squeeze as a goodbye and wandered off into the crowd, toward the back of the hall. Soon, he was out of sight. After watching him disappear, Barry settled back into the food before him, hoping to finish it now that he’d been thoroughly distracted on his break.

As soon as Barry set up behind the bar again, the orders started flooding in. Turns out that Carter had to leave a little early that night, leaving he and Kendra as the only gatekeepers to the angry mob.

“Two Secret Identities for me and my boyfriend, and a Calling Card for our little friend here.” Barry was leery about serving their “little friend,” but Kendra said that if he’d made it past the bouncers, he was legal.

“A Shirley Temple for me and a Rum and Coke for her.” This was one of only three drink orders Barry had made all night that didn’t have custom names.

“I’d  _ love _ an MCU. How much are they, again?” The MCU was an amalgamation of almost every drink under the roof, and were expensive to reflect that. Kendra made sure he understood that they were also limited to two per customer, as they hit  _ hard. _

“It’s my birthday! How’s about a freebie for the birthday boy?” After Barry asked her for assistance with this request, Kendra offered them a martini or nothing. They decided against it.

“What  _ don’t _ we make?” Barry asked as the birthday boy walked off, almost offended at not being catered to.

“You name it, Tommy’s got it,” Kendra replied. “We’ve even got champagne and aged wines in the wine cellar.”

“We have a-”

“This bar is owned by Tommy Merlyn. Of course we have a wine cellar!” She laughed as more patrons approached.

The orders continued, relentless, but Barry kept his head above water without much issue. Even without Carter there, the two of them handled the crowds with aplomb. Soon, Barry was handling most of the orders himself as Kendra stepped back and the crowds died down. He felt her amusement as he shook, stirred, dripped, and tapped patron after patron. Once, he thought he could feel his feet hurting, but the orders quickly took his attention away from that and it didn’t bother him at all. Every now and then, she would step in with suggestions on ingredients or mixing technique, but Kendra eventually became truly hands-off as the morning went on.

At long, long last, the crowds dried up. The lights were turned on as the final patrons were escorted out of the building. The dancers were seated in the tabled serving area, each one of them more exhausted than the last. Kendra and Barry helped them out with some water as Tommy and Mick approached from the main office. Kendra went about counting the tip jar as Tommy took front and center before his employees.

“Great night, everyone,” Tommy cried, arms open and his grin wide enough to be seen from the back of the room. “And let’s give a round of applause to everyone who bared it all tonight, eh?” Scattered clapping sounded from around the room, but it was tired and sporadic.

“We good to go, Boss?” One of the dancers, an imposing young man with wicked-looking wrist accessories and obscuring shades asked. Kendra had warned Barry to watch that one - he was only nineteen, so he couldn’t accept alcohol.

Tommy held up a finger. “One second, Khalil, I wanted to make sure  _ everyone _ got their accolades tonight. The bartenders handled everything tonight with no issues at all, the kitchen staff dropped only two plates tonight, our bouncers kept the peace perfectly, and,” he gestured, cuing four luxuriously-clad individuals near the stairwell to raise their hands - Len among them, “our dear courtesans performed admirably on all accounts. Please, another round of applause.”

This time, the clapping was a little more energetic, although Barry’s hands seemed to be the loudest. Len noticed and nodded a smile in his direction.

Tommy raised a dominant fist into the air. “Okay, Saturday folks, rest up! The weekend is upon us!” The fist opened into a heartfelt wave as people started heading for the exits.

“Hey, Barry.” Kendra caught Barry’s attention as he moved to leave the bar.

“What’s up?”

“I’m not allowed to give this to you until you’re official, but I want you to know that this is yours.” She handed him a bound roll of bills. He marveled at its thickness as he undod the rubber band and set about counting it.

The more he counted, the wider his eyes became. “Kendra, there’s-”

She nodded, grinning ear to ear. “You made over three hundred dollars tonight in paper money. That’s  _ insane. _ And before you ask, no, I didn’t give you any of mine. Every single bill was given to me with the express request that it go to you.” She nudged him with her elbow. “I guess you’re a hit.”

“I…”

“You going to be here tomorrow night?”

After making three hundred dollars  _ in tips? _ “Oh, hell yeah.”

“Well, I won’t be here after midnight, so it’ll just be you and Carter. And Carter always gets a  _ lot _ of tips. Keep this up and make him weep, okay?”

Barry laughed and nodded as Diggle approached the bar.

They said their goodbyes and walked out to the car lot where Oliver met them, still in his dancer gear. They slipped into the town car and drove off before he even removed his mask.

“So, how was your first Friday?” he asked.

“It was great,” Barry said with a smile. “Met a bunch of great people, made a bunch of great drinks, and had a great time.”

“Great,” Diggle chimed in.

But something weighed on Barry’s chest. “Hey, Oliver, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure thing.”

“What do you guys have against Leonard?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Snart?” He considered this. “Mainly that he and Tommy don’t get along. I’ve barely said two words to the guy at work - he doesn’t know it’s me, after all - but he’s not the nicest person when we see him around town. Why do you ask?”

“He sat with me during my lunch break and was, well, a gentleman.”

Oliver hummed his understanding, but his face was conflicted. “I dunno. I’d still be careful around him. Tommy’s told me things. Evidently he has a criminal record - and I don’t mean like my disorderly conduct stuff.”

“My dad has a pretty serious criminal record,” Barry replied, stiff in his seat. “That doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person.”

“Your dad?”

“I told you I was in foster care?” Oliver nodded. “It’s because of my dad. Well, that’s what everyone thinks. I want to prove his innocence. That’s why I’m going to school to be a CSI.”

“That’s really something,” Diggle said. “I’m sorry to hear that, Barry.”

“Thanks, Dig.”

Oliver looked unnerved from this explanation, but he seemed to shake it off. “Okay. Well. You can be friends with whoever-”

“Whomever,” Diggle cut in.

Oliver gave him the stink eye via the rearview mirror.  _ “Whom _ ever you want.” He looked back at Barry. “Just...be careful, okay?”

There was a lightness in Oliver’s voice that gave Barry reason to pause. His eyes were certainly filled with concern, but there was also a sort of sadness in the man’s expression, like he’d just lost a friend. He didn’t say anything else, instead turning to look out the window, his hands in his lap like he’d been scolded.

Barry reached over and put a hand on Oliver’s leg, patting it gently. Oliver looked down at it, first in surprise, then in confusion as he met Barry’s gaze with his own.

“I’ll be fine,” Barry said. “I promise.”

Oliver’s smile was similarly sad, but at least it was a smile. He took Barry’s hand in comfort as he went back to watching the scene whiz by outside, and they rode back to the apartment in contented silence.


	5. Part of the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonard shows Barry the marvelous world of the Masques courtesans while Oliver and Tommy have some serious words about their new hire.

“A staff meeting?”

Oliver paced the living room of the apartment with his cell to his ear as Barry worked on dinner in the kitchen. Saturday had proven to be a very calm day, until Tommy’s name popped up on Oliver’s phone. Every few seconds, he’d grunt affirmation into the phone, then pivot in place and head the opposite direction. Barry simply watched in amusement.

“Sure. I’ll let him know. Thanks.”

Oliver hung up and pointed over at Barry. “There’s a staff meeting tonight. Tommy wants you there. And don’t forget to fill out the stuff on his flash drive.”

Barry had done that already. He was ready to be an official member of the Masques family.

Oliver collapsed onto the couch, flinging a leg over the arm closest to Barry’s line of sight. “Meeting will start at seven.”

“It’s almost five now. When do you want to head out?”

“Oh, I’m not going.”

“What?” Barry looked up from the stove, his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Why?”

“I don’t go to staff meetings. Too risky for me to be there with the lights on.”

That was probably true, but still- “And no one finds that suspicious?”

“Tommy covers for me.”

Barry cringed. How people didn’t hate the Green Arrow for getting out of things like meetings, he couldn’t even begin to imagine. That was some serious favoritism.

“Okay, so you won’t be at the meeting, but are you working tonight?”

“Saturdays are my half days. I’ll dance for the first four hours, then party it up after that.”

Barry chuckled. “Must be nice to be able to plan your clubbing around your clubbing.”

“It was my one stipulation for agreeing to work for Tommy.”

It sounded like there were a  _ lot _ of stipulations surrounding Oliver’s employment, but Barry kept his mouth shut. Instead, he asked, “I assume Saturdays are pretty busy?”

“They’re about the same as Fridays, crowd-wise, but it’s more organized,” Oliver replied, flopping off the couch and jumping to his feet. “Saturdays are our Gimmick Night. Like when we do special events or competitions or whatever. It’s a fun time.” He grinned. “That’s why I always take the morning off.”

Well, that sounded interesting, at least. “What is it this week, then?”

“Oh, it’s Stripperpalooza this week. We set up a voting booth in the main hall and have clubbers try their hand at stripping alongside some of our pros. Then we have people vote for their favorite and that person gets a punch card for free drinks.”

Something about Oliver’s voice nagged at him. With a sudden realization, he looked over at Oliver with disappointment. “You don’t-”

“Three times running,” he replied with a mischievous grin.

“And the punch card?” Employees got a small discount on drinks, but Barry was pretty sure Oliver already got free drinks.

“I give it to my date.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “Your ‘date?’ Aren’t you ‘dating’ Laurel?”

“Yeah, but she knows I’m a clubber at heart. The rules are No Kissing, No Sex, and Minimal Grinding. At the club, I’m pretty free to do whatever.”

“That...doesn’t sound very fulfilling.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, but Barry saw the hesitation in his stance. “You’ve been a part of that kind of scene for all of four days and already you’re a shrink about it.”

“Not what I meant. You do you.”

That characteristic grin returned. “Thanks.”

Barry continued with dinner, which Oliver very much appreciated (“I still can’t believe you can cook like this, dude!”), before getting a work bag together and heading to the bus station. He didn’t feel like sitting around and waiting, so he decided to make his way to the club extra early.

The doors were closed, but the lights on the main floor were on. Barry rapped on the door, hoping someone was inside - maybe a custodian - and stood there awkwardly as no one replied.

“Too early, I guess,” he muttered to himself. He looked around. The club was surrounded by warehouse-like buildings, some of which looked like they may have been modified into apartments. This caused the extra space between buildings to appear almost like alleys. It felt similar to Central City in that aspect. 

He situated himself on the steps leading up to the main doors and put his head on his hand. No one walked by, few cars made their way around the block, nothing. It felt like a ghost town. He wondered when he  _ should _ have left the apartment. He sneezed from the smell of dirt in the barren flower beds lining the building.

The sun wasn’t scheduled to set until long after the meeting, and Barry found himself squinting in the harsh afternoon light. That must have been why he didn’t notice anyone approaching the building, and why them asking his name stirred him so.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” the woman asked. She was gorgeous, with beautiful, dark skin and bright, intelligent eyes peeking out from behind dark shades and a wide-brimmed hat to block the sun. Her smile was quite kind as she looked down at him. She had an athletic frame, clad in what Barry assumed to be a popular fashion for the season. She looked quite stylish. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.

“No, sorry. I didn’t see you come up,” he replied. He stood up, realizing he was quite a bit taller than her up on the fourth step. He trotted down to be on the same level with her. “Yeah, I’m Barry. You are?” He held out a friendly hand.

“Anissa. I’m one of Tommy’s dancers,” she said, taking his hand in a shake. She had quite a strong grip. Combined with her confident smile, Barry couldn’t help but smile back. “I go by Thunder.”

“Oh! That’s where I know you from. Okay.” Barry held up his fingers to indicate a mask. “The goggles you wear on the table are crazy.”

“My uncle made them,” she said with a chuckle. She pointed up to the entrance. “Are you trying to get in?”

“Yeah, but I guess I’m too early. I don’t think anyone’s here.”

Anissa gave him a cocky grin. “I got you.” She waved him after her as she moved around to the side entrance. She searched for spies before flipping open an outdoor outlet cover, revealing a numbered keypad next to the entrance. Barry watched in amusement as she punched in a few numbers, issuing a loud  _ clack _ from the door frame. Barry opened the door on cue and led the way inside.

“Nice,” Barry said with a laugh. They came out on the main floor, just next to the stage. “Is that an employee entrance?”

Anissa shook her head. “Nope. We’re not supposed to know that code. I like surprising the boss by being here before he is. He still hasn’t caught on how I get in here.”

“What about all the surveillance cameras?”

She shrugged. “He’s never said anything any cameras. I mean, I know we  _ have _ them, but-”

“Caught you.” Anissa jumped at the voice, her hand on her chest as Tommy appeared from the main office with a grin on his face. “I  _ finally _ caught you.”

She put a defiant hand on her hip. “Doing what, Boss?”

“Using the side entrance after hours,” Tommy replied. Between his smile and the way he held himself, he didn’t seem very serious. “Maybe I should change that code.”

Anissa scoffed. “Whatever, I’ll just bust it again.”

Tommy winked at Barry. “Don’t worry. No one’s in trouble. Besides, you brought Barry in early enough that we could get him signed up officially.”

“I guess I’ll just chill up here, then,” Anissa said as she hiked herself up onto the stage. “Lemme know if you need me, Boss.”

Tommy gave her an approving wave. “Gonna practice for the competition?”

She laughed. “I don’t know about that one. Anyway, go make him official.”

A hand wave signaled Barry to head into the main office, where he would, at long last, become an official member of the Masques family. Ten minutes later, everything was complete.

“So, how’s it feel to be an official bartender?” Tommy asked as Barry closed the laptop in front of him.

“I never thought I’d be working at a strip club,” he replied, but he was smiling as he said it. “It’s kind of a weird feeling.”

“A good kind of weird, I hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll introduce you at the meeting. Did you decide if you want to pick up a costume and name yet?”

Barry hesitated. Did he really feel the need to dress up? If he didn’t, he’d be the only person around without some kind of gimmick. It really did seem like everyone had a better time if they could hide themselves. It made a certain kind of sense, psychologically, and it was an aspect of the job that did offer some intrigue to Barry. 

“I…” The words stuck in his throat. He’d never done anything like this before, so a little anxiety was perfectly normal. He steeled himself, allowing his grin to take over. “I’ll come up with something,” he said.

Tommy grinned and slapped him on the back. “Good man. You’ll find everyone loves a good superhero. Or villain, if that’s how you wanna roll.”

Barry opened his mouth to speak, but a loud rapping on the office door interrupted him. The door crept open enough for a young woman with a lopsided haircut to stick her head in. “Tommy, people are showing up.”

“Thanks, Alex.” As her head disappeared, Tommy gave Barry a proud grin. “Well, newbie, let’s get you out there!”

Tommy led him out of the office and over to the eating area, where several seats were already filled and others were about to be filled. Barry noticed a few dancers already in their gear off to one side of the area, with Kendra and Carter near the bar. Len and some people Barry could only assume were other courtesans had taken up residence along the far wall, near the stairwell, and several people Barry recognized as strippers were seated in the center. Bouncers lined the back wall, each as imposing as the next. The woman Tommy had called Alex stood with them.

“Good evening and Happy Saturday,” Tommy called with a big grin. Scattered applause and hollering broke out from those gathered as even more bodies continued filtering into the room. Barry was pretty sure the meeting wasn’t even supposed to start for another half hour or so, but the floor was nearly full. It was a good feeling to see people this dedicated to their jobs.

“Who’s the cutie, Boss?” The question came from someone sitting amidst the dancers, but Barry didn’t recognize him. He had a square jaw and small, twinkling eyes. He looked like a football player or a frat bro, but at a glance seemed a bit kinder than the ones Barry knew. His hair gel game seemed a little out of control, though.

Tommy clapped Barry on the shoulder. “Good eye, Nate. This is our newest bartender, Barry. Barry, this is almost everyone.”

“Bartender?” A woman with impeccable posture and long, black curls called from the far wall. “Do we allow children to serve alcohol now?”

“He’s twenty-three,” Kendra snapped. “Keep your comments to yourself, Nyssa.” The two bristled at one another, Nyssa folding her arms and looking as though someone had just committed some grave betrayal.

Tommy raised a hand to calm any more roused quips. Returning to Barry, he pointed along the walls. “We’ve got our beloved courtesans and bouncers, you know Kendra and Carter, these are the table and cage dancers,” he added, indicating most of the people Barry recognized, “and those are Palmer’s Kids.” He ended his little tour of the group by making a gesture at the group seated at the most central tables.

Barry looked at him in confusion.

“Strippers, man, we’re strippers,” the kid named Khalil called. He shook his head, annoyed. A clean-cut, muscular man seated near him looked down at his own knees, a hint of sadness on his face. Barry saw Nate giving Khalil a bit of a glare. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Anyway,” Tommy said as he squeezed Barry’s shoulder, “why don’t you join Kendra and Carter and we’ll get this meeting over with.”

“Sure.” Barry made his way to the bar, where Kendra beamed at him and Carter wrapped a well-muscled arm around his shoulders. He couldn’t help but smile at the welcome.

The meeting continued with what Barry would consider “normal business.” They discussed the general health of the club’s finances (which were only going up), identified which members of each division would be working with the public that night, and went over what to do if the police decided to make a stink about their services. When that discussion started, Barry threw a nervous look at Len and the other courtesans. They didn’t seem particularly worried. As far as Barry knew, prostitution was illegal in Star City - how were they managing an entire  _ floor _ of sex workers without getting busted for it? He’d have to ask Tommy or Oliver about that later.

Or maybe he didn’t want to know.

As the meeting went on, Barry had an opportunity to get a better look at the various people employed by the club in better lighting than usual. It was no surprise: pretty much everyone here was gorgeous in one way or another. Since their success banked on the attractiveness of their various entertainers, it was no wonder the club was doing well. Even the cooks and stagehands were quite fit, except one chubby chef who was all smiles and quite adorable.

Finally, the meeting wrapped up, everyone’s spirits elevated. Tommy had a way with words when mixed with his unique brand of energy, and it riled up the positive vibes in the club. As those not scheduled for that night filtered out of the building, Barry helped Kendra set up the bar. He noticed Carter’s absence - probably off getting a “pre-shift protein snack,” if he had to guess.

Barry took a seat to wait for the doors to open, checking the time on his phone. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. He sighed and tucked his phone away, deciding to take in the calm, bright atmosphere of the club instead of escaping into his technology. He had just settled into his seat when he felt someone come up behind him.

“Barry.” The way his name hit his ears warmed them. The name was spoken with a soft respect, something he’d had little exposure to recently. He turned in his seat to find the source of the voice, coming face to face with the washboard abs of one already halfway dressed Leonard Snart.

“Oh. Hey, Len.” Barry averted his eyes, the heat in his cheeks rising to meet Leonard’s amused smirk.

The courtesan stole a chair from a nearby table and expertly flipped it around, gracefully placing himself in it right next to Barry, all in one smooth motion. It seemed that this man did  _ everything _ smoothly. “Ready for tonight?”

Barry fiddled with his hand on the table. “I guess. It’s basically just Friday night, but with special events, right?”

“I suppose.” Len paused to think. “I don’t believe I’ve ever spent more than a lunch break on the first floor on a Saturday. It could be anything from boring to oppressive down here, and I’d never know.”

“Hey, Snart,” Tommy called as he approached the table. “The Mistress isn’t going to be here tonight.”

“I knew something was off during the meeting,” Len replied. “I was missing the judgmental glares.”

“The Mistress?” Barry asked.

“One of mine,” Len said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Sweet girl. Real tiger in bed. She’s our BDSM specialist. And yes, I believe I knew she wasn’t going to be here. She mentioned going home to Central City for someone’s birthday.”

Barry perked up. “Central? Really? That’s where I’m from.”

“That’s where a  _ lot _ of people are from,” Len replied. “I’ve spent a fair amount of time there, myself.”

“Well, do you mind making sure her room can be used by someone else tonight?” Tommy asked.

Len gave a polite, albeit slow, nod. “That I shall, el capitan.”

“Thanks.” He turned to walk away, but stopped, looking back at Len. “And good luck tonight. I mean it.”

Len gave a lazy salute as Tommy headed back toward the office. Barry watched him leave, his business suit still seemingly out of place amidst all the dancers warming up in their short shorts and no shirts.

“Something catch your eye?” Len asked, snapping Barry back to his table.

“Huh?”

“Thomas. He’s quite handsome. I wouldn’t blame you if there was an attraction there.” He gave a dry laugh. “If it weren’t for his personality, I’d probably have asked him out myself.”

Barry scoffed. “He’s not that bad.” At least, he wasn’t when Oliver wasn’t around.

“We just rub one another the wrong way, is all,” Len replied with a bit of a stretch. “I suppose I should go make sure the Mistress’s room is cleared out like a good little soldier.”

“Oh.” The sudden idea of a lack of companionship didn’t appeal to Barry.

Len seemed to notice the downtrodden tone in his voice. He peered over at him. “Would you like to accompany me? You still haven’t seen the third floor yet, have you?”

“I dunno-”

“Doors don’t open for another forty-five minutes. You’ve got some time to kill. Walk with me.”

After a moment of silent deliberation, Barry shrugged. It  _ was _ technically learning more about his place of employment. And Len was right: Kendra had actually  _ left _ after finishing setting up the bar, so the third floor seemed safe enough.

“Okay. Sure. Let’s go see this mythical third floor.”

Len chuckled, a soft, pleasant sound that brought a smile to Barry’s face. “It’s not the land of fae.” He paused, his chuckle growing. “But I suppose it is full of faeries.”

With a bit of a laugh, Barry followed him to the stairwell.

Tommy sighed as he watched the monitor in front of him. His eyes followed the form of Barry Allen as it followed one Leonard Snart to the stairs, leading him up to the courtesan floor. He set his cheek in his hand as he sat there, face illuminated by security feeds. There was a sour taste in his mouth as the two vacated the first floor.

A knock at the office door brought Tommy’s attention back to his immediate surroundings. Mick opened the door, allowing the Green Arrow to make his way in. Mick gave Tommy a quick look before escorting himself out of the office. At this point, it was habit - when the Green Arrow was with Tommy, no one else was allowed to be.

“Evening, sexy,” Oliver said as he slipped his mask off. “Saturday shaping up okay?”

“Sure,” Tommy said, spinning in his chair to face his friend with a smile. It felt hollow, and it probably looked it, too. Something about seeing Leonard leading Barry around didn’t sit well with him.

Of course, Oliver picked up on this. “Something’s up.” He stood up to his full height and folded his arms in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy shook his head. It wasn’t really a big deal - Barry was an adult. He could be friends with whomever he wanted. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“I know that tone.” Oliver leaned forward a little, eyes scouring the security feeds. “What did Snart do now?”

Tommy quickly spun and punched a key on the console in front of him, freezing the feeds. “Hey, woah. Don’t go snooping.”

“Tommy. No one’s here yet.”

“Not the point.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I told you: don’t worry about it.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Fine.” The mischief returned to his face as he clapped his hands in anticipation. “So. Who’s on the bracket for tonight?”

“Huntress, Painkiller, and the Atom.”

Oliver moaned. “Really? The Atom?”

“Yep. He’s had to sit out the past  _ four _ Paloozas because you wanted a better shot at winning.”

“But that means-”

“Yup.”

A frustrated growl escaped Oliver’s throat. “Why even bother coming if I can’t get something out of it?”

Tommy gave him a stern look. “How about hanging out for free in the most esteemed club in the Glades? Free drinks? Being able to effectively cheat on your girlfriend with no repercussions?”

His words seemed to reach something in Oliver, who shrank into himself a little. “I, uh, I know. Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it is,” Tommy sighed, looking away. “If it wasn’t, I’d be concerned.”

“What’s your problem?” Oliver asked. “You’re pissy tonight.”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Get ready for your shift, Ollie.”

Oliver shrugged. “Okay, fine. Did I miss anything big at the meeting?”

“Nope. Just introduced Barry to everyone. He’s official now.”

He smiled. “Good.”

This tonal shift brought Tommy’s eyes back up to his friend. “Keep an eye on him, would you?”

“Sure, but why?”

Tommy rubbed a temple. “He just seems so  _ innocent _ compared to most of us. I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Huh. Sounds like you’ve really taken a liking to him.”

Something in Oliver’s tone nagged at him. “He’s an investment. Why, do you think I’m getting too close?”

As Tommy watched, Oliver  _ fidgeted. _ That was  _ not  _ something he was used to seeing. “No. Never mind.”

“Looks like both of us are a little off our games tonight,” Tommy said, turning back to his computer. “Get out there and have fun. I’ll see you for our public appearances later.”

A slight pause. “Okay.”

Tommy focused on the monitor in front of him until he heard the heavy door close once more. He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward.

Was Oliver right? Tommy hadn’t been lying - Barry  _ was  _ an investment, but he was a  _ cute _ investment. It felt weird thinking about an employee like that, but it wasn’t like Barry had been working for him for very long. There might be some real truth to Oliver’s concerns.

“Just what I need,” Tommy muttered to no one in particular.

The third floor was not exactly what Barry had expected, but it certainly held up to the lavish description Len had given him previously. The hallway was devoid of decoration other than large red drapes with gold trim that filled the gaps between rooms. The light was bright and golden, produced by large lamps lining the walls. They gave a warm, almost rich sensation in the main hall. There was the distinct odor of potpourri wafting through the hall, tickling the front of Barry’s nose as he followed Len to a door near the far end from the stairwell.

“This is the Mistress’s room,” Len announced, patting it proudly. He cocked a snarky smirk at Barry. “How vanilla are you, Barry?”

“Huh?” What kind of question was that?

Len popped a key into the door. A loud  _ chink _ signaled the deadbolt retracting. “I bet you’ve never even been cuffed to a bed.”

Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve…” His face grew hot. “That’s, uh-”

“No worries, kid, I’m not judging you. Come on in.”

Len led the way into the room, which was the size of a small apartment and had an entirely opposite feel from the main hall. The lighting was dimmer, with black drapes for sound absorption and contraptions of all sorts scattered around. A large bed in one corner of the room boasted how comfortable it was with its luxurious-looking pillows and almost shiny bed sheets. There were a few  _ toys _ lining the walls - Barry noticed dildos of various sizes, as well as a ball-gag, three different whips, and…

“Is that a leash?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes.”

“Is that one of Mistress’s toys?”

_ “The _ Mistress. The ‘the’ is important. And sort of. This is our storage room of sorts, as well as being the Mistress’s dungeon. One of our courtesans helps people with an interest in pup play. That’s for him.”

“I...see…” Barry slowly turned away from the wall of equipment, taking in more of the room.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Len said from somewhere near the bed. “It’s clean, it’s organized, and it’s spacious.” Barry meandered into a leather contraption hanging from the ceiling. As he did so, the metal bits on it made little jingling sounds, altering him to his predicament. Without even looking up, Len said, “Watch the sling.”

“The what?” Barry tried to turn, but one of his arms caught a part of the sling, bringing it with him. Surprised, he turned further, wrapping himself up in the straps. He grunted as he tried to spin the other direction, but lost his footing and collapsed onto the hanging harness. “Uh. Len?”

Len lazily eyed the sling from across the room. He didn’t even try to hide is smile. “Is that an invitation, Barry?”

“Ha  _ ha. _ Help.”

Len assisted in rescuing the newbie, then dusted his hands in accomplishment. “My work is done here.”

Barry hitched an eyebrow. “What work?”

“A: I’ve checked the room. It’s in fine condition for visitors. And B: I managed to get you into your first sex sling.”

“How do you know I haven’t used one before?” He was indignant, but something about how high he raised his head told another story entirely.

“Oh? You must regale me with that story in particular,” Len said, feigning surprise. He leaned in close to Barry, his voice dropping to a slick whisper. “I  _ love _ using slings.”

Barry gulped hard, issuing a laugh from his new friend.

“Let’s go. I’ll show you my room.”

Len led him out of the Mistress’s dungeon and almost directly across the hall to a similarly large bedroom furnished similarly to what Barry had already seen. The main difference was the lighting was a cooler, dim white light instead of bright yellow, lending to a more chilled atmosphere. A couple of toys were propped up on a small desk near the bed, primarily dildos of increasing size and intimidation.

“That’s a lot of dicks,” Barry laughed. “Do you get to use them much?”

“Every night I work,” Len replied, picking up a middle-sized blue one and flipping it over in his hands a few times. “They’re quite useful for prepping people without getting my hands dirty.”

“Is that industry lingo?”

Len gave him a confused, pitied look. “Jesus Christ, Allen, are you  _ that _ naive? I use the dildos to warm up my clients. Especially male clients.”

Barry caught the reasoning behind that one. He didn’t inquire further. “Okay, then. Do you have a favorite one?”

His response was in the form of a soft smirk as Len set down the blue dildo and picked up the largest one on the table. “I like Brutus here.” He tossed it to Barry. It was quite heavy, and mostly rigid, with some surface give. Other than the somewhat tacky, rubbery outer material, it felt rather lifelike. Barry hefted it a few times, visually measuring it. He’d guess it was somewhere around ten and a half inches, maybe closer to a foot long.

“I guess clients like to pretend,” Barry muttered, handing it back to Len.

“Pretend?” Len’s smirk had disappeared as he simply stared at Barry in puzzlement.

“Yeah. It’s not a realistic size. It’s a fantasy.”

The way Len’s body shifted rewrote his attitude entirely. “I don’t use these to fuck my clients unless they want to, Barry. This is my favorite one because it usually means my turn is next.”

Barry just looked at him, blank. He didn’t know what that meant.

Len sighed and set the dildo back on his desk. He pointed at the small end of the lineup. “I start here and break them in, then I work my way up.” Len’s finger swept up the line of toys until he pointed at his own crotch.

Well that only made sen-

Wait.

_ What. _

Barry’s mouth fell open a little as realization hit him. “You mean you’re-”

“He  _ finally _ gets it,” Len said, raising his hands. “Are you sure you’re going to college? That took you a while.”

Barry’s eyes fell back on Brutus, then over to Len’s face, which had adopted its more trademark arrogant smirk. “That’s just…”

“Not fair?”

“I was going to say  _ impressive, _ but sure, I guess. I don’t get penis envy. What’s it like living with a fire hose attached to you?” Barry’s face had a somewhat confident grin of its own.

Len clicked his tongue and waved Barry away. “If you’re going to poke fun, you can leave.”

“No, please, I’ll be good,” Barry laughed, holding his hands up in false pleading.

“You’d better. I’d hate to walk you across the hallway and tie you up.” The way Len said this gave Barry the impression that it was something he would  _ very much _ like to do.

Barry looked around the room one more time, trying to find a safer subject. “Okay. So. Are you the ‘size’ specialist or something?”

“Dirty talk, actually,” Len said with that familiar flair of importance. “Although I do have a pretty dedicated clientele when it comes to size queens, yes. Hazard of the job, I suppose.”

That was understandable. “Have you ever fallen for a client?” Barry asked.

Something almost sad flashed across Len’s face. He crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t like this interrogation anymore, Barry. Isn’t it about time for you to return to the main floor?”

Barry shrugged. He probably  _ should _ return to the first floor, but Len was surprisingly fun to just chat with. “Thanks for bringing me up here. It would have just been another floor without you.”

Len finally turned his eyes back to Barry. “It was purely selfish. It gets lonely up here. It’s nice to have someone to chat with.”

“What about the other courtesans?”

“Most of them other than the Mistress and Toyman hate their jobs. Trying to befriend them is not a positive experience.” He considered this. “Although the pup player is particularly cute and likes conversation. He’s...adequate.”

So Len was practically isolated with people he’d rather not get involved with all night long? That didn’t sound like a great gig to Barry. He gave Len a look that could be mistaken as pitied. The courtesan’s face fell somewhat angry when he noticed.

“Don’t look at me like I deserve better,” he hissed, but when Barry took a step back, he sighed. “Apologies. The look on your face just now reminded me of ‘family.’ It doesn’t bring back very pleasant memories.”

“I didn’t mean anything,” Barry said, his voice quiet. His shoulders slumped a little, his hands behind his back. “I guess I’ll go now.”

As he turned around, Barry heard Len call to him. “Barry.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for caring enough to make that face.”

Barry nodded. He moved to the door and opened it to head out, but was stopped by the wall of muscle in front of him. The green mask and hood were especially striking this close.

Oliver looked from Barry to Leonard and back. “What the hell?”

“Good evening, Arrow, nice of you to grace the third floor with your presence,” Leonard sneered.

Green Arrow didn’t look very interested in swapping insults. “What’s going on in here?” His voice was forceful. Upset. Even behind his mask, Barry could tell Oliver was angry. There was a fire in his eyes that scared Barry just a little.

“None of your business,” Leonard said, waving a dismissive hand. “But this is  _ my _ business, so-”

“Your…” Oliver’s voice trailed off, then he looked over at Barry, the anger sapped from his expression. It had been replaced by what Barry could only describe as ‘hurt.’ “Did you really-”

Barry shook his head, confused. “What?” They were standing across the room from one another, completely clothed. How could he think-

“That’s...that’s cool,” Oliver said, his voice falling into a hush. Even Leonard looked over at him in a mix of confusion and concern. The masked dancer turned on the spot and headed out into the hallway without another word, Barry on his heel.

“Ol-” Barry stopped himself, as Oliver had in response to almost hearing his name. Right.  _ Secret. _ “GA. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Oliver started walking again.

Barry picked up his tail, irritation spurring him onward. “Would you  _ stop? _ What’s wrong?” He reached out and grabbed Oliver by the shoulder, spinning him in place. “What the hell kind of reaction was-”

Barry couldn’t say another word, as Oliver had lunged forward and latched onto Barry via their lips in what turned out to be a very sudden, somewhat rough kiss. Barry snapped his head back, his eyes wide. Oliver stood there, staring at him, his face red beneath the green but otherwise expressionless. His eyes, however, projected a layered sadness that Barry couldn’t interpret right then. A second stretched into eternity as they said nothing.

It was Barry who broke the silence. “Oliver,” he whispered, concern and shock overriding his vocabulary.

Oliver shifted his weight uncomfortably before finally turning back to the stairwell in silence, leaving Barry by himself, awe gluing his feet to the carpet. As much as he wanted to chase him, Barry found himself unable to move.

Somewhere near the end of the hallway, Len stood leaning against his door frame, arms crossed in front of him, irritation and amusement fighting for ownership of his face. “Well, that was... _ something.” _


	6. The Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's busiest night yet turns into a real night to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter has two active stripping scenes. The first one is rather brief, just a few paragraphs, but the second one is considerably larger. Once Barry is moved to the backstage area, if you wish to skip the stripping segment, you can skip ahead to the next page break (the very large space between scenes).

Barry wanted to find Oliver to ask him what was going on, but work came first. With his heart still racing and his face still warm from that little surprise upstairs, he suited up in a red leather vest he’d brought for the evening and readied himself behind the bar, when Kendra took note of the furrow in his brow.

“You okay, hon?”

He shook his head, trying to shrug it off. He’d talk to Oliver later. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Kendra stepped back and gave him a once over, her eyes lingering on the new leather addition to his ensemble. “I like it, but with the shirt, it’s a little ‘Saloon’ for Masques.” She reached out and stripped him of both the vest and his button-up shirt, then replaced the vest, buttoning it up enough to expose his chest. When she was done, she gave a triumphant smirk. “There. Now you fit in.”

“I look like a stripper,” Barry said, taking in his new style.

She smiled. “Right. You fit in. Don’t worry. You’ll thank me when the tips come rolling in.”

_ If you say so, _ he thought. As he continued prepping, he couldn’t help but scan the room for the Green Arrow. Oliver was usually one of the first dancers on a table, but he was conspicuously absent. Was this his fault?

Kendra leaned over next to him, giving him a concerned side-eye. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait until after work,” Barry said. “Don’t worry about it.”

The doors opened a few minutes later, and patrons started pouring in. Unlike Friday night, the bar at Barry’s station had a dedicated bouncer watching guard. She was rather petite for a bouncer, with long dark curls and a somewhat pointed face. She didn’t look terribly intimidating, but her stance and expression told Barry she could be trusted to keep the peace.

“Maggie, you just let me know if you need a drink, okay?” Kendra called from her station. The bouncer between her station and Barry’s gave a polite nod in response.

As soon as the patrons hit the bar, the compliments started coming in. Barry smiled at the attention and the positive comments at first, but when the compliments started becoming date proposals or offers to go back to their place after work, the smile transformed to a polite “thank you but no thank you.” Some patrons were quite insistent, even without alcohol in their system, and Maggie had to step in. He was grateful she was there - he didn’t quite know how to handle all the attention.

Maybe there was something to that whole “wearing a mask” thing at Masques.

It was busy enough that Barry didn’t even have to worry about getting distracted by Carter. Not that he had much capacity to do so; every scant free moment was spent scanning the floor for the Green Arrow, to no avail.  _ Where _ did Oliver go?

Around eleven, Kendra had him take a break before the number of bartenders dropped at midnight. Barry was happy to get off the floor and into the relative quiet of the break room. He stepped out from behind the bar and nearly slammed into a sturdy patron in a surprisingly nice suit for a strip club.

“Oh, sorry,” Barry said, but the man’s face fully caught his attention:  _ Oliver. _

“Barry.” What little smile Oliver had been wearing evaporated, a subtle fear covering the man’s face. He had been engaged with a couple of flirty women who gave Barry a curious look as they fell completely out of Oliver’s awareness.

Barry, however, was simply confused. Why wasn’t he in his work clothes? Did he  _ call in sick _ after what happened before the doors opened? Why would he  _ come back to Masques _ if he was trying to avoid Barry? None of it made sense.

Oliver’s face fell a little, and it looked like he was searching for something to say. The girls he’d been addressing grew a little concerned, as well. The fun-loving Oliver Queen was suddenly sullen and ignoring them.

“Ladies, would you excuse us, please?” Barry asked as he took Oliver by the arm. “I have to talk to Mr. Queen for a moment. I’ll have him back to you in just a moment.”

“Whatever,” one said as she took a swig of the beer in her hand. They turned away from the men and shimmied their way back into the crowd. Classy.

Barry led Oliver to the break room, away from the noise. He was Tommy’s best friend and spent a lot of his weekend at the club, so no one should look twice at having him in the employee area. Oliver himself allowed Barry to lead him.

They found a seat in a relatively private spot in the break room, near a back corner at a table. No one else was on break at the moment, but Barry felt the need to whisper anyway.

Sitting across the table from him, Oliver sat quietly, his face long.

“Oliver. Talk to me. What happened?”

The two sat in silence for a moment as what Barry hoped was an answer formed. Finally, Oliver leaned onto his arms, his fingers gripping his hair in some emotion Barry wasn’t accustomed to seeing from anyone, let alone Oliver Queen: guilt.

“I don’t know,” Oliver whispered, his hand shifting to cover his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Barry. He  _ couldn’t  _ look at Barry. “It just  _ happened. _ I’m sorry.”

“Not the kiss,” Barry replied, lowering his voice at “kiss” despite being the only people in the room. “I mean the way you vanished. It was like you committed some huge offense. The kiss took me by surprise, but I’m  _ worried _ about how you acted afterward.”

“Don’t be worried about me. I’m not worth it. I’m trash.”

“What? Why are you trash? Oliver,  _ talk to me. _ Help me understand.”

Oliver looked up at Barry from behind his hand. “Remember what I said about my deal with Laurel?  _ No kissing. _ I cheated, Barry. I legitimately  _ cheated _ on Laurel. With you.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Barry said, still trying to wrap his head around the way Oliver was beating himself up, “but what I don’t get is  _ why _ you kissed me. Even if you did ‘cheat’ with the kiss, your response was  _ not normal. _ People don’t go into hiding after a kiss.”

There was no response. Oliver sat in silence, his eyes hidden once again. They sat like that for quite some time.

“Oliver.”

The hand hiding his eyes slammed onto the table, revealing anger Barry had not expected. “I don’t know, Barry! Why does anyone kiss anyone? A laugh? A dare? To feel close?” He choked out: “Love?”

_ Love? _

“Love?”

Oliver shook his head and rubbed his temple. “Don’t worry. I’m not in love with you. We just met this week.”

That was a relief. Barry wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle someone falling in love with him  _ that _ fast. “That’s good, I guess.”

“But you’re adorable,” Oliver continued, not looking at him. “You’re adorable, and sweet, and too good. Honorable. You want to help people. I guess I just wanted to be a part of that, to be around it, and when I thought I saw you and Snart together, something just snapped. I guess I was jealous.” He collapsed onto the table, hiding his head. “I’m trash. I’m cheating trash. Laurel’s going to kill me.”

Sitting across the table from this lump of depression, Barry couldn’t find the words to help. He wanted to. But he saw Oliver as a friend, someone who had helped him when he needed it. Could he find it in himself to fall for someone like Oliver? Probably. He was sexy and (usually) confident and in control. But as they were now, they were just friends. The kiss had been startling, but this new, guilt-ridden Oliver tugged at Barry’s heart in a new way. It wasn’t pity - Barry understood that the man had broken a rule of his relationship and consequences are a universal rule of law. 

No, as Oliver wallowed in front of him, Barry felt himself drawn to the vulnerability. The confident party goer was gone, leaving a bundle of anxiety and self-loathing. It was  _ relatable. _ Barry smiled a little despite the situation. It was a side of Oliver he hadn’t seen yet, and he was kind of glad he was getting this opportunity. He was sure not many people had ever seen him this way.

“I...don’t know what you want to hear, but I’m going to tell you what I think,” Barry said. Oliver tipped his head up to look at him from behind his forearm. “I’m not going to tell Laurel anything. But I think you should tell her. Maybe take Tommy for emotional support.”

Oliver groaned. “Can’t you be there, instead? Tell her there’s nothing to worry about?”

“Pretty sure my being there would only complicate things,” Barry replied.

Oliver sat up. His face was red, but he seemed composed. He took a deep breath. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re not mad.”

“Mad?” Why would he be mad?

“It was pretty sudden. I’ve been slapped for less.”

Barry chuckled. “No, Oliver, I’m not mad. Surprised and a little worried, sure, but not angry.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in Oliver’s posture. He looked almost  _ sheepish. _ “Why worry about me?”

“We’re friends, right?” Barry crossed his arms and gave him a somewhat cocky smirk. Or what he  _ hoped _ was cocky.

Oliver gave a shaky smile. “Yeah. We are.”

The door to the main floor opened and Wild Dog entered. The way he looked over at their table with no concern confirmed Barry’s suspicions of Oliver’s presence at the club. “Sup, Mr. Queen. Barry, they need you back on the floor.”

“On my way,” Barry called. He smiled over at Oliver, who seemed to have shaken off his previous condition. He adjusted his jacket and gave Barry a confident smile. As they stood up, Barry asked, “So are you just going to hang around tonight?”

His smile saddened, but persisted. “I think I’ll call Laurel. Maybe go see her. But I’ll be back after a bit.”

Good. Barry gave him a pat on the shoulder as he headed out of the break room and back onto the floor. He felt Oliver’s eyes on him as he left, but he wasn’t sure if it was in gratitude, friendship, or something more. At this point, it didn’t really matter.

The clock struck two in the morning, and on cue the music in the club cut off entirely. Barry popped his head up from the drink he was mixing to see most everyone gathered around the main stage. Cheers erupted the moment the music cut, excitement mounting to a thunderous applause as a young man with luxurious, shoulder-length black hair and a dazzling smile took the stage. Barry recognized him from the meeting as one of Palmer’s Kids, a guy named Cisco. He was reasonably fit - not typical model quality like many of the others, but still tight and appealing - and had a certain charisma about him that drew Barry’s attention. He waved to the crowds, who shared his appreciation.

“Goooooooood evening, gentlemen, ladies, gentlemen who are ladies, ladies who are gentlemen, and anyone else to whom our management apologizes that we’ve forgotten to name!” The man Barry knew to be Cisco raised his microphone in the air, sparking another wild round of cheers. “We’ve got a great night planned for you this week, with our regular Stripperpalooza taking the stage in just a few minutes! We’ve already had sign-ups taken down, so I’m afraid if you wanted in, it’s a little late for this week, but next week can be  _ your _ time to shine! And remember, folks, tips are  _ not _ allowed during Stripperpalooza. For now, though, let’s start off strong and give a big round of applause for everyone’s favorite troublemaker,  _ Painkiller!” _

Cisco moved aside to raucous applause and cheers as the curtains onstage ripped open to reveal Khalil in a full military vest and black cargo pants, complete with combat boots. His dreads whipped around him as he spun into view, popping an almost Michael Jackson-esque pose with his bracers visible to the crowd. His shades hid his face pretty well from where Barry was standing.

Khalil’s arms were huge, and as the military vest was flung to the side, Barry realized just how built the kid truly was. He was certainly an impressive specimen, with the lights of the stage rebounding off of voluptuous curves of muscle and disappearing into the crevices between his abs. The cheers grew louder than before as Khalil gave a few body rolls, popping his abs in time to the thumping music that had begun with his ripping open his vest. His hands went south to undo his cargo pants, but a patron approaching the bar interrupted Barry’s attention. He did have a job to do, after all.

By the time Barry finished that order, Khalil had stripped down to nothing but his boots, gauntlets, shades, and a bright red thong that whipped this way and that as he spun, twerked, twisted, and humped. It left  _ nothing _ to the imagination. Even as he watched in amusement, Barry saw the sensuality, the intention, the forcefulness of his moves. The kid was young, but he was a professional. That much was clear. 

The music ended on a big beat matched only by the front-splits Khalil managed up on stage, sending the crowd into a tizzy. He’d collapsed all the way to the stage, resting his crotch right there on the flooring. Barry cringed as the pain he knew he’d put himself through if he attempted such a maneuver shot through his mind. The crowd, however, loved it, if their volume was any indication.

Cisco popped up onto the stage, but not front and center. “Everybody give it up for Painkiller!” 

Barry clapped alongside Carter and the patrons at the bar as Khalil gave a bow and a pec pop or three before disappearing behind the curtain. Cisco started introducing the first visitor contestant as a patron approached Barry for a drink.

As Barry handed them their order, the familiar visage of his employer popped up at the bar. “I’ll take one of those, too,” he said with his charming little grin.

“Sure thing, boss,” Barry said with a wink and a laugh. He really did enjoy feeling important, and when everyone is wanting to get drunk for the morning, the bartender is  _ the _ most important person to know.

“So, are you ready?” Tommy asked as Barry set about mixing.

He didn’t look at him. “For what?”

“You’re up in, like, three contestants.”

Barry’s head snapped up and he looked over at Tommy, his eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“Stripperpalooza. Your name was on the sign-up sheet.”

_ What. _

“No!” Barry nearly dropped the shaker. “How-”

Tommy looked troubled. “Oh. Did...did you not sign up?”

“Of course not! Why would I? I’ve never done anything like that!”

“Hmm.” Tommy got up from his seat at the bar, his chin in his hand as he thought. “I’ll go take another look at the list.”

“Please.”

As soon as Tommy was gone, his seat was filled by another man in a suit jacket. Oliver spun on the stool to face Barry, his grin wide. “So, are you ready?”

Barry’s mouth fell open. Of  _ course. _ “You asshole, I can’t strip in front of the entire club!” He threw a cleaning cloth at Oliver’s face, which smacked him right in the nose.

“Oh c’mon, Barry, it’s a great way to break the ice!”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have someone you should be spending time with?”

“Don’t need to,” Oliver said, spinning on the stool again. He looked absolutely childish.

“Okay, I’ll bite: why’s that?”

Oliver picked up an empty drink glass from the person next to him and looked at the ice melting inside. “We broke up.” The words were delivered in such a nonchalant manner that Barry did a double take.

“You  _ what?” _

“We broke up.” He set the glass back on the countertop. “I’m free, dude. Free to flirt and fuck all I want.”

Something was wrong. He wasn’t maintaining eye contact. His attitude was  _ too  _ flippant.

Barry sighed. “I guess that’s not incorrect. So you’re here to party up your new bachelorhood?”

“Damn straight,” Oliver laughed. “Get it? Straight? Because I’m not.”

“I get it.”

Oliver slapped a hand on the counter, startling his neighbor. His face was stoic. “I’m fuckin’ hilarious.”

Barry grimaced. “Oliver, did you drink  _ before _ coming here?”

“The hell kind of question is that? My girlfriend of four years broke up with me over a kiss. Of course I’m already a little drunk.”

This was new information. “Wow. Four years?”

Oliver shrugged. “Eh, on and off for like  _ ten, _ but who’s keeping track?”

“You’re impossible,” Barry sighed. “But all that aside, why would you sign me up to  _ strip? _ I’ve never even hinted at the idea!”

“I meant what I said: it’s a great ice breaker.” Something about how simplistic this outlook was annoyed Barry. “It won’t be that bad. You don’t have to go any further than your underwear. But you should put your shirt back on so you have more to take off.” He waved Barry to him. “C’mon. You’re up soon.”

Barry leaned down and grabbed the button-up shirt Kendra had stashed under the counter. Looking down at it, he wondered if maybe Oliver had a point. It was something he’d never done before - it could be fun, right? 

Was he really considering this?

“Plus, it’ll get you more tips tonight, I guarantee,” Oliver added. “Carter does it from time to time, usually makes a killing afterward. The dude’s got abs for literal _days.”_

Tommy popped up onto the stool next to Oliver’s. “He’s not wrong, you know.” He looked over at his friend, false irritation scrunching his face. “Shouldn’t you be on a table somewhere?”

“Called in sick with heartbreak,” Oliver replied, gripping the fabric over his chest in a white-knuckle lock. He fake sniffled. Tommy reach out and put a consoling hand on his shoulder. The two sat in solemnity for a moment, a stark contrast to the thumpa thumpa around them.

Barry rolled his eyes, but smiled in spite of himself. “You two are dorks.”

Tommy grinned over at him. “And  _ you _ have a performance to get to.”

“What? What about checking on the list?”

“Turns out it was the Green Arrow that signed you up, and what the GA wants around here, the GA gets.”

Barry rolled his eyes, but a smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay. But can I wear something on my head?”

Tommy shrugged. “Sure, but what?”

Barry pulled out a modified dark red ski mask from his work bag. It was cut to display the chin and an area surrounding the mouth much larger than a regular mask would. “I’ve been thinking about the whole superhero thing. Started on a mask. Still working on a name.” He slipped the mask on - it fit more like a cowl than an actual mask - and grinned over at the two. “What do you think?”

“It’s a great prototype,” Tommy said. “We’ll get you in touch with Vibe and Toyman. They can help you make something more permanent. And it’ll do well for tonight, but be prepared to wear it for the rest of your shift.”

Barry considered this. The mask was lightweight, hardly a true ski mask. He nodded. “I can handle that.”

“Okay. Get your shirt and let’s get you backstage.” Tommy shouted over at Carter. “Hawkman! You’ve got the whole bar until Barry gets back.” Carter gave a lazy salute in response as he mixed a drink. Tommy stood and guided Barry to the area behind the curtain of the main stage. Oliver trailed after them until reaching the edge of the stage, where he peeled off, drink in hand. When did he get that? Barry certainly didn’t make it for him.

The backstage was dimly lit and the air was still, almost stifling. The sounds of the club were muted here as Tommy helped him get his shirt on and his mask in place. Even the music the previous contestant was dancing to was quieted. The curtains must have been quite heavy for the sound dampening to be so severe. There were dressing rooms across the floor from the curtains, which Barry was sure were mainly for costume storage, given what he’d seen thus far.

“The lights are a bit bright, don’t let that startle you,” Tommy said as he brushed Barry’s shoulders and back. “Music’s been picked for you. It’s pretty typical thumpa thumpa, so just go with the beat. Dance a little, take off a little, dance a little, you get the idea.” He slapped Barry on the back and beamed at him as the sound of applause peeked through the curtains. “Sounds like you’re up.”

Barry took a deep breath, trying to steady the hummingbird in his chest, as a busty blonde woman appeared from the stage covered in sweat. She was positively glowing despite her hair being a tangled mess, probably from flipping all over the place. She was clad in just a lacy bra and panties, with knee-high socks.

“Oh, you’re next?” she gasped. “Break a leg - they love a good show.”

Barry swallowed hard. Was he really about to put it all out there like this? How on Earth did he get wrangled into this? Why did he allow Oliver to make this decision for him?

“Tommy, I don’t think I can-” Barry looked around. Tommy had vanished. He was by himself as the previous contestant vacated the backstage area. He heard his heart in his ears. His mouth was dry. His tongue was too big. He was a little queasy. But still, his eyes were wide and he couldn’t deny the fact that he was excited. This was simply a new life experience to be had.

Tommy’s head popped back in around the corner of the curtain, giving Barry a beaming grin. “Okay, kid, you’re up!”

Barry nodded, taking a huge breath and shaking the nerves out of his arms. On the other side of the curtain, he heard Cisco’s announcement:

“Next up is our newest addition to Masques, the bartender that will fix you up faster than you can decide on what to order, all the while stealing your heart with his charming smile! Give it up for the Flash!”

Barry made a move toward the curtain, but he balked. “The  _ what?” _

Tommy was suddenly right behind him. “Just go with it!” He shoved Barry forward, nearly throwing him onto his face through the curtain. He was just able to catch his balance before face-planting in the middle of the stage, lit up by thousand-watt lights in plain view of dozens of strangers.

The lights  _ were _ bright. Tommy hadn’t exaggerated. Barry could barely see past the first row of patrons. But what he noticed most was the applause. It was raucous. He felt the warmth in his cheeks flare, hidden by his mask, and he waved as confidently as he could manage as Cisco pointed at the DJ on the far side of the stage. A dance beat resonated across the room, loosening the tightness in Barry’s chest with its bass. Still a little caught off guard, Barry didn’t move at first.

The cheering kept up at first, but when Barry didn’t immediately start busting a move, it started to falter. He knew he had to do something, but he was terrible at improvisation. What does one  _ do _ up here? His eyes scanned the somewhat confused faces of the patrons in the front row, landing squarely on the wide, almost proud grin of one Oliver Queen. Barry blinked in confusion and embarrassment.  _ Oliver _ was watching him.

Watching him not do anything.

His friend, however, wasn’t just there to ogle. He snapped his fingers at Barry and pointed at his shoulders, which were tilting in time with the music. Barry instinctively started moving to mirror him, the stress melting away from the room as people noticed he’d started doing something. Barry wasn’t a dancer, but he did enjoy impromptu jam sessions in the solace of his apartment at times. And with the mask, there was a level of anonymity involved that gave him the freedom to…

One of Barry’s arms flung itself up and behind his head as the other ran up and down the front of his torso. His leg pounded up and down to the beat and he felt his hips cock back and forth a little. It was like his body knew what to do before he did.

The warmth in his face abated as he spun away from the crowd long enough to undo his vest and lower it down teasingly, revealing his squared shoulders still clad in his button-up shirt. His heart hammering in his chest, he tore his vest out of one hand and absently threw it at Cisco, issuing a cry from the now-cheering crowd. Barry’s body made sure to leave the crowd with something to look at as he undid his buttons by moving his hips with the music. He popped his ass out as far as it would go, his leg still pounding to the beat. When he turned back around, only one button was left, exposing the cleft in his chest and abs to the world. He only hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Soon, the shirt was open and dropped to his wrists, his shoulders bare as he bounced his torso back and forth to the beat. He found Oliver in the crowd, who was dancing with his full attention on Barry. He pointed to himself and did a full body roll. Barry wasn’t sure if he had the muscle control for that, but he could certainly try.

Starting with his shoulders, Barry hiked up and forward, then down and back, rolling his shoulders, chest, and ribs in time with the music. He focused on flexing his abs and rotating his hips, issuing another surge of cheers from the crowd. He ended the roll with a violent pull of his shirt from one hand to the other, which flung it straight at Oliver, who caught it with a bright grin on his face.

As Barry reached down to his pants, the cheers grew louder. He grinned, the feeling of dread evaporated. He had nothing to fear about what he was wearing underneath - he’d wore boxers tonight - and the mask really did give him a sense of confidence that no one knew who he was. It was easy to see the appeal for the dancers to conceal themselves like this.

Pants were going to be an issue. There was little way to gracefully remove a pair of jeans. So instead, Barry mimicked a move he’d seen one of Palmer’s Kids perform earlier that week: he fell to his knees as he undid his zipper, gyrating his hips and shoulders to keep the dance going. As he pulled his jeans down around his ass, he leaned flat onto his back and kicked his legs out, then curled up in a sit-up and whipped his pants clear of his legs in one smooth motion.

The crowd went  _ wild, _ and Oliver stood there with a stunned look, his mouth hanging open slightly. He’d obviously not been expecting such a slick move.

Barry rolled forward onto his feet, leaving his jeans on the floor, jumping up and landing on a hard beat to the song thumping in his ears, his body taking over once again. No longer clad in anything but his mask, boxers, and shoes, the Flash moved with a fluidity he’d not cultivated before now. With a mischievous grin, he reached for his boxers and tugged down a little at their hem, but winked as the crowd shouted up at him, waggling a finger. He wasn’t a real stripper, after all.

The song concluded on a big downbeat and bass hit, sending the crowd into an uproar as Barry threw out his arms in a gesture of thanks. He took a bow, taking the opportunity to gather his jeans, before waving out to the crowd.

Cisco was at the mic immediately. “What a first impression! The Flash, everybody!”

Applause lifted Barry’s spirits as sweat beaded on his forehead underneath his mask. The lights were  _ hot, _ he realized. He took another quick bow and made his way backstage, the sound of patron cheers lifting the corners of his mouth.

Tommy stood near the changing rooms, arms crossed in front of him, a grin on his face. “You. Were. Incredible.”

Barry whipped off his mask to let his skin breathe a little easier. His breathing was heavy. His face was flushed. That had been a lot more work than he’d realized at the time. No wonder Oliver was always so tired after work. “Thanks. That was nuts. And I’ll never forgive you for making me do it.” He laughed.

Tommy’s smile was warm. Kind. “Well, take a bit of a break. Get some water. You’ve got a bar to tend.”

Cisco appeared from the stage and tossed Barry his vest. “Here you go, champ. Great job.” He looked around. “Is there anyone left?”

“Intermission,” Tommy called. “There’s a couple left, but I think we should let the audience catch their breath after the Flash’s little show.”

“Got it.” Cisco disappeared, leaving Barry to give Tommy a confused look.

“That reminds me. ‘The Flash?’”

Tommy shrugged. “You are the single fastest bartender I’ve ever seen. You learn quick. You tend quick. You break quick. It’s impressive and, frankly, a little crazy. I know I said you usually choose your own name here, but I didn’t want to introduce you as Barry, just in case.”

Barry considered this for a moment. One of the corners of his mouth tugged into a smirk. “You know what? I like it.”

“Just be careful of ‘flashing’ jokes at the bar,” Tommy laughed.

Barry nodded, a chuckle rising in his chest. “You got it, boss.”

Oliver was right. The tips following the Flash’s performance were  _ incredible. _ Barry got slipped so many telephone numbers he was sure he’d need a catalogue for them all. It didn’t take long for his cheeks to hurt from all the grinning at all the compliments. It was honestly becoming difficult to do his job. Barry wasn’t declared the winner of Stripperpalooza, but he was informed several times by various patrons that this was simply a technicality that employees couldn’t win, and that he’d had their vote.

But one thing remained stalwart as Barry fumbled his way through the rest of his shift: Oliver had planted himself at the end of the bar and  _ did not move  _ until closing time. He watched Barry serve, listened to patron stories (participating in some discussions), and was generally a very quiet, pleasant addition to the environment. A few times, he even stepped in as a bouncer of sorts when people got too pushy with Barry. Secretly, Barry appreciated the assist.

At long last, the crowd began to thin and bouncers started helping people out. Oliver sat with his chin in his hand, eyes still drawn to Barry as the bartender cleaned his station. Barry gave him a smile, which he returned. It was a very simple exchange. It felt nice.

Eventually, Carter joined Barry at his station. “What a night,” he sighed with a stretch. “Have a good time up there?”

“I did,” Barry admitted. “I don’t think I’ll be doing it again, though. My heart probably hit three hundred BPM.”

Carter nodded his agreement. “It’s exhilarating, isn’t it? I can’t imagine doing it for a living.”

“You could if you wanted to,” Oliver said. “You’ve got the perfect body for it.”

“Maybe, but I like tending bar. There’s a connection to the patrons you don’t get when your whole purpose is fap material, you know?”

Oliver’s face fell a little at this, but he nodded. “Yeah, I getcha.”

“What about you, Mr. Queen?” Carter asked. “I’ve seen you during Stripperpalooza. You’re sexy enough. You’ve even got some moves I’ve seen on the tables here.”

Oliver made a rude noise in his throat. “And get caught by the tabloids? No thanks. It’s bad enough I’m associated so closely with Tommy, and he runs things respectably.” He took a swig of the water in front of him. It was the last glass Barry still needed to clean. “Can’t say I’m interested in making more of a fool of myself than I already do.”

Barry hid his smile from Carter as he took the glass from Oliver. They shared a bit of a wink as things wrapped up.

Finally, Diggle appeared at the bar. “You two ready to go?” he asked.

Oliver slapped the countertop. “Sure thing, Dig. Ready, Barry?”

Barry nodded, but stopped himself. He’d forgotten something. “Oh, my shirt-”

Without missing a beat, Oliver held up his hand, bound by Barry’s button-up shirt. “Got it.”

“You wrapped your hand in it?”

“Sure. And?”

“Why didn’t you just give it back to me?”

Oliver shrugged. “You weren’t using it.”

That seemed like a flimsy reason. “Oliver…”

“You can have it back at home,” Oliver replied. “Just let me live a little fantasy for a bit: being part of the Flash’s life.”

Barry was suddenly very glad he’d not yet removed his mask; he knew how red he was underneath it.

The trio made their way to the car, where Oliver leaned onto the arm bound in his roommate’s shirt all the way home. Neither said anything, both of them quite tired from such an eventful night, until they got inside back at the apartment. Oliver handed the shirt back to Barry, his eyes lingering on it a little.

“You were really good tonight,” he said, his voice low.

“Thanks.” Barry was smiling, but he was concerned about Oliver. A lot happened tonight. “Are you okay?”

Oliver didn’t say anything at first, but he seemed to shake himself out of a vacant thought. “Yep. I’m fine.” He gave Barry a familiar, cocky smirk. “I didn’t realize how hot you are until tonight. Knew you were cute, but  _ damn. _ You rocked it.”

Barry chuckled, his insecurity rising to meet the redness in his cheeks. “I just went with the cues you gave me.”

“Well, I’m glad they worked.” Oliver leaned in and gave Barry a kiss on his cheek, issuing an even deeper red to flare up. “Good night, Barry.” He left Barry there, a little stunned, as he headed for the empty bedroom. When he reached the door, he looked back at Barry. “I need to be careful. Stacked on top of everything else you’ve got going for you, that sexiness may actually make me fall in love with you.” He laughed, disappearing into the bedroom, leaving Barry in an even further shocked silence.

The only sound he heard was the hard  _ thumpa-thumpa _ of his heart in his ears. He remembered what he’d thought earlier that night: he didn’t know what he’d do if Oliver suddenly  _ did _ love him.

But surely, it couldn’t be  _ that _ bad, could it?


	7. Guilt-ridden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Laurel are over and Barry doesn't know how to handle it. Turns out there's enough guilt to go around.

After such a big Saturday night, Barry was happy to get a night off at the bar. He slept in, prepped for his internship that would be starting the next day, and generally had a nice day to himself.

Well, mostly to himself.

Oliver had decided to hang around the apartment as well, lounging in the living room and generally taking up space. Barry didn’t mind - last night had been a big emotional trip for both of them, and the extra rest would do them both some good. Oliver even brought in a couple things for the apartment: a large television, a couple of extra armchairs, and some drapes, probably from the Queen mansion from what Barry could tell. By mid-afternoon, the playboy had really made the living room into something worth relaxing in.

Despite his activity, Oliver was much quieter than usual. As he rearranged the apartment, Barry watched his facial expressions; they ranged from stoic to sad, with a couple of angries mixed in there. He was surely thinking about losing Laurel, but didn’t want to burden Barry with it. That was understandable, but Barry would prefer such bottled up feelings be expressed. Less people explode that way.

Barry himself had mixed feelings about everything that had transpired at the club last night. Being forced to strip had been embarrassing, fun, and terrifying, all at once, but what was really weighing on him was the memory of Oliver gripping his hair in guilt in the break room. The way he’d been so dismissive of his break up. How he’d attached himself to Barry’s shirt.

And how Barry himself was okay with all of that.

Although he’d never admit it, there was a sense of calm inside Barry with regard to Oliver’s break up. The kiss seemed to mean more in retrospect, now that he wasn’t exclusive with Laurel. Obviously Barry would eventually have to sort through that thought process: did he want to kiss Oliver again? Was he  _ happy _ about how things had gone down?

He looked over at Oliver from the mouth of the hallway, splayed out across the couch haphazardly, his attention on the television across the room. His eyes were empty, his jaw clenched. He took a swig of a beer without a word. His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh.

No. “Happy” wasn’t quite the word for it. It was clearly weighing heavily on Oliver, and as his friend, Barry couldn’t bring himself to make light of the situation. But something in him  _ did _ nag at him, like an opportunity had presented itself, somehow.

Thus, he had to wonder: was he a bad friend? 

At the moment, none of that mattered. Right now, Oliver needed someone to be his friend, good or bad. “What are you thinking for dinner tonight?” 

Oliver gave a lazy shrug. “I was probably going to order out.” His voice was flat. Unemotive. It was up to Barry to make this conversation work.

“How about I cook tonight? It’s been a couple of days, and I figure it might be nice.”

Still no meaningful movement from the couch. “Sure.”

Barry crossed his arms, weighing the consequences of his next question. In his mind, it was worth it. “Have you talked to Laurel?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to?”

Oliver sighed and rolled forward to lean on his knees. “I don’t know. Why do you care?”

Barry shifted uncomfortably. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right. Friends.” The word was sad. Oliver stood up and made his way to the hallway, not looking directly at Barry on the way past. “Dinner sounds great. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Oliver-”

“Don’t.”

Oliver disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Barry alone in a worried stupor. He took a deep breath and mulled over what he could do for dinner that might help Oliver pep up a bit. Nothing came to mind. He stood there near the kitchen, chin in his hand.

Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do to help.

Oliver and Laurel had  _ history. _ Not just their romance, but their long-term friendship. Barry didn’t know what he would do if his friend Iris just up and dropped him from her life. But did she do that, really? Maybe Oliver was overreacting a little.

He needed more information, and he knew how to get it.

In a matter of seconds, his phone was to his ear. When the other end picked up, Barry smiled.

“Tommy. Hey. Are you busy?”

Oliver woke from his nap a little over an hour later. He felt no different. The world was still bland, still colorless. He didn’t move at first, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom as a numb void filled his mind. He could lose himself for hours in that void, if he allowed himself, but he knew Barry would eventually pop in and force him to  _ feel. _

Sometimes Oliver didn’t like Barry.

The clink of pans in the sink muffled by his door alerted Oliver that someone was in the kitchen. There were voices - Barry had company over. Curious, Oliver rolled out of bed and donned a tanktop before making his way out into the hallway.

He was met by the beaming grin of one Tommy Merlyn. “Morning, sleepyhead!”

Tommy’s face and shoulders were stark white, a powdery substance sitting on his nose and collar. Barry was at the stove, monitoring something frying in a pan, but he too gave Oliver a warm smile as he appeared. Looking around, there was no evidence of what Tommy had managed to cover himself with.

“Is that flour?” he asked, reaching up and wiping a little off of Tommy’s cheek.

Barry chuckled. “He threw it in his own face to make it look like he helped.”

Tommy reached around Oliver’s shoulders and nuzzled a white, powdery cheek against him, leaving traces of it in his stubble. “I  _ did _ help.”

The void in his mind shifted colors. There was a tickle of feeling in Oliver’s chest, a sensation he was glad he could recognize. He smiled in spite of himself, pushing Tommy’s face away. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m  _ your _ idiot,” Tommy replied, squeezing him even tighter before letting go. “Barry said you were feeling down. Thought I’d come and try to cheer you up a little.”

That was suspicious. Sweet, but suspicious. “Thanks.”

Barry flipped whatever was frying on the stove. “Figured you could use another friendly face. Plus, I wanted to hear more about you and Laurel.”

Oliver felt a pit form in his stomach at her name. He grumbled a little, but fought against the urge to collapse on the couch again. “Why?”

“Tell him, Tommy.”

Tommy shrugged. “Do you really think it’s over, dude? Over a  _ kiss?  _ You two are soulmates. There’s no way Laurel’s gonna drop you forever.”

“Soulmates? Really?”

“Well, maybe not, but you two have been through too much to call it quits over a kiss.”

Oliver shook his head. “Listen. I appreciate the concern. Really. It’s sweet. But let us handle this, okay? This is between me and Laurel.”

Tommy clapped a hand on Oliver’s shoulder and stared him directly in the eye. “That’s where you’re wrong. I love you, Ollie. You are my family. My other half. What affects you affects me.”

Oliver stared back for a moment, then pulled away. “It’s a nice thought, but that’s not how relationships work. They’re between two people, and everyone else is an outsider.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Tommy replied. His brows knitted together, worry in his eyes. It annoyed Oliver to see him like that, especially when the worry was directed his way. “You and Laurel-”

“You wanna talk about this?” The question was louder than he’d intended, but the gripping in his chest fought for control. “Fine. Let’s talk about me and Laurel.” His shoulders lifted in a big shrug, his eyes wide. “Let’s do this, Tommy. Let’s have a chat.”

“Ollie-”

But Oliver didn’t hear his attempt to interject. He turned and started pacing the floor. “First of all, I’ve cheated on Laurel. Several times. And I’m not just talking about kissing random guys I’ve barely known for a week. I can name seven women and three men I’ve had sex with while Laurel and I were dating. We broke up over it, more than once, but we always get back together. Because of our  _ history.” _

Tommy didn’t say anything, his expression nonplussed. None of this was new information. Barry, however, watched him pace with concern.

“I party. A lot. I drink. A lot. I go to clubs. A lot. Laurel doesn’t do any of those things to an extent that I would consider ‘fun.’ She has a life outside of the late nights. She has responsibilities. She grew up. I didn’t.”

But it wasn’t just his immaturity. He’d hurt her. He’d hurt her so many times, yet she continued to take him back. To try again. And again. For the better part of a decade. He’d thrown that away, piece by piece, over a long period of time. But the worst part? When he’d brought up the kiss to Laurel, her response had been so  _ tolerant. _

_ “Oh. Well, that’s just like you, Ollie, to break a promise like that. I think you’re better on your own, with no responsibility to others. Go ahead and see other people. No strings attached.” _

It almost felt like she didn’t really care that he’d messed up, like she expected him to, and that hurt the most.

Oliver leaned against the arm of the couch, his arms folded in front of him and his eyes closed. He took a deep breath before looking back at his friends. They wore mixed expressions of concern, although Tommy also bore something akin to annoyance. That was understandable - Oliver and Laurel had broken up dozens of times over the course of their relationship. What was going to make this any different?

_ “I’m done expecting things from you, Ollie. I know I can’t change you. I can’t be the person you need. You need to find them yourself.” _

A lone tear fell down Oliver’s cheek as he stared at Tommy, whose eyes trailed the droplet for a moment before meeting his gaze. Even with all their history, their mistakes, their victories, there was a cloudy, unreadable look in Tommy’s eyes. For once in his life, Oliver didn’t know what his best friend was thinking.

In a somewhat surprising moment of emotional openness, Tommy stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Oliver’s shoulders, fitting his chin into the crook of Oliver’s neck. The hug was warm. Safe. Oliver hesitated at first, but returned the embrace, fisting the cloth on Tommy’s back harder than he realized. He saw Barry smiling from the kitchen, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

Laurel was gone. But there would always be Tommy.

“I’m just glad you didn’t do anything crazy this time,” Tommy whispered. Oliver wasn’t sure if Barry would be able to hear it. Oliver’s smile faded, realization striking his memories. He  _ had _ been through this before, and it hadn’t ended well. Even though Laurel made it clear that there would be no returning to what they had, Oliver hadn’t lapsed into a chaotic mess. He hadn’t wound up on the sidewalk overdosed.

His eyes landed on Barry, who had returned to tending to the frying pan on the stove. It was because of him. He was the one that grounded Oliver this time, even though he didn’t realize it. Instead of going on a drunken binger like one would expect, Oliver had hung around the bar and remained civil and controlled all night. He could even remember some of the conversations he’d taken part in. It was a pleasant change from the missing memories that normally accompanied the breakups with Laurel.

“Barry.” He pulled away from Tommy and moved toward his new friend. He wrapped his arms around him from behind. He could feel how Barry stiffened in his grip, unsure what exactly was going on. Oliver leaned his forehead against the back of Barry’s neck, his eyes closed. It felt nice to hold someone, and while Tommy was always down for a hug, something about this felt  _ different. _

Barry’s voice carried his confusion. “Oliver?”

His response was to tighten his hold. He felt a gentle hand on his arm as Barry waited patiently.

“Oliver, the chicken is going to burn.”

Oh. “Right. Sorry.” He released his roommate and backed away, his face red. He expected Tommy to throw in a couple of quips, but nothing came. With a glance, he saw Tommy grinning over at him.

“That was sweet,” he said. “You two are cute together.”

Barry’s head snapped around and Oliver made a face. This was certainly not the time. Tommy laughed. Barry probably wouldn’t notice, but Oliver heard it: there was something empty about that laugh. Something was bothering Tommy.

He’d have to ask about it later.

“So, when’s dinner?” Tommy asked, rubbing his hands together.

Later that evening, Barry sat with a drink in front of him at a bar near SCPD. He checked his phone as the low hum of conversations surrounded him. He’d been there only long enough to order and receive his first drink when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Hi, Barry.” Laurel sat on the stool next to him, placing her purse on the countertop where she could keep an eye on it. She looked like she’d just stepped out of the courtroom: business jacket, knee-length skirt, makeup done up very well, hair on point. Barry couldn’t help but admire all the work she had to go through just to make public appearances and be taken seriously as a woman in a man’s world.

“Hey. I’m glad you agreed to meet me.” He took a swig of his drink - it wasn’t even alcoholic - and smiled over at her.

“Sure! I was a little confused by your message, though. ‘Can I buy you an apology drink?’ What’s that even mean?”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “I want to apologize by buying you a drink. That’s not hard to understand.”

The smile on her face was only kind of sarcastic. “I get what an apology drink is, Barry, but why are you buying  _ me  _ one?”

Oh. Wait.

“You don’t know?”

Laurel gave him a suspicious side-eye. “No. Why? Should I?”

He sighed. Oliver didn’t even tell her. That wasn’t that surprising, but it  _ was  _ surprisingly considerate of him. Without knowing who he kissed, he could continue being friends with Laurel with no weight on his chest.

_ This is my only chance to back out. I can’t untell her. _

He took a deep breath. No, she deserved to know the truth. He’d deal with the consequences like a good friend should.

“I heard you and Oliver broke up,” he began, his words slow.

She gave a little shrug and waved down a bartender for her order. “Word travels fast in a two-bedroom apartment.”

“I just wanted you to know that I’m the one…” He trailed off, steeling himself to put it all out there. He really liked Laurel, and the prospect of losing her after not knowing her for a full week was heart wrenching. “I’m the one he kissed.”

Laurel gave him a confused glance, like he’d just told her that the sky was blue. “I know, Barry. Ollie told me.”

Now Barry was the one confused. “Wait. So, why wouldn’t I apologize to you?”

Laurel shook her hair over her shoulder and tallied off on her fingers as she spoke. “First, you didn’t kiss him, he kissed you, so he’s the initiator. Second, you were basically accosted and I would never blame a victim of sexual advancement. Third, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He could barely believe what he was hearing. “You broke up! How is that not a big deal?”

She sighed as her drink was set in front of her. “Oliver had been messing up  _ long _ before you came along, Barry. This was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Honestly, he broke it a few months ago, I was just waiting for a reason to cut him off.” She smiled as she considered this. “He was on surprisingly good behavior for a while there.”

“But-”

His confusion was met with a confident smirk that sort of reminded him of Tommy. “I promise you, Barry, it’s cool.”

They fell into silence for a moment as Laurel took a sip from her drink. Barry could barely believe how understanding she was being about this. He had no clue how he’d react himself, if it were his boyfriend cheating on him. Or the focus of his affections trying to apologize to him for it.

Laurel swallowed hard, her eyes glued to the glass in front of her. When she spoke, her voice was slightly shaky, bringing Barry’s attention to her. “So, uh, do you think you might take him up on the offer?”

This entire conversation was confusing. “What offer?”

She gave a haphazard shrug. “The city’s most eligible new bachelor kissed you. Think you might follow up on it?”

A cold chill ran down Barry’s spine and his vision clouded for a split second. He blinked his eyes back into focus, locked onto Laurel’s face. She didn’t make eye contact, instead focusing very hard on her drink. She  _ was _ bothered by all this!

“I would never.”

When she finally looked his way, she seemed confused. “Really? Why?”

To be honest, he’d just spit that out to appease her. His chest tight, he lied. “He’s not my type.”

“Barry.”

“And the partying and the clubbing-”

“Barry, stop.”

He swallowed hard. She was staring at him now, a cocky smirk pulling at her face. “I’m a lawyer. I can tell when a lie is slapping someone in the face.”

Barry winced. He’d been caught.

She reached out and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “That’s so sweet that you’d think of me first, Barry, it really is. But Oliver likes you. And not in the way he ‘likes’ all those girls at the club.”

He felt two inches tall, half-shrunken away from her. “I haven’t really even admitted it to myself yet. You’re not angry?”

“As irritating as he is, I love Oliver. And I want him to be happy.” She shrugged. “You didn’t hear the things he told me about you, Allen. He’s got it bad. He just doesn’t know it.”

Wait, really?

“What kinds of things?” Barry asked, idly drawing a circle on the countertop.

Laurel chuckled. “Nope. You gotta pull it out of him yourself.”

They sat together for a long while, talking about this and that, but every time the conversation died down, Barry saw a sadness tug at Laurel’s features. She was sticking it out, being the strong one. She needed a friend, too, and Barry was happy to fill that role for the night.

As they readied themselves to leave, Laurel gave him a meaningful pat on the shoulder. Her smile was sad, but strong. “No one would blame you for getting a quickie from someone that looks like Oliver,” she said with a shrug.

Barry laughed. It was an honest, full laugh. She had a point - regardless of the emotional baggage, Oliver was attractive, and it  _ had _ been a while. She was also trying to distance the act from the emotion, something Barry recognized from his psychology classes as a coping mechanism. 

“I say go for it,” she added as she headed for the door. “Rock his world.”

Barry waved slowly after her, not quite sure what had just happened. 

The shadows playing over the front porch caused some difficulty unlocking the front door back at the apartment. Barry would have to remember to leave the front light on the next time he went out. He fumbled with the key for a moment and opened the door, stepping from the darkness of the outdoors to the darkness of an empty living room. He saw the light under Oliver’s door as he made his way inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He shucked his jacket and reached for the coat closet as a noise caused him to pause.

_ “Ahh...hah...fuck…” _

Heat rushed to Barry’s cheeks as the huffing and moaning continued. That was  _ not  _ Oliver’s voice.

Standing there in the dark, jacket still in his hand, Barry found his feet glued to the floor. He heard the rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh through the door. The low moans of a man who was enjoying Oliver’s hospitality teased his ears. If he strained, Barry could hear the low grunt of Oliver himself mixed in. Every now and then, a curse or plead would escape.

_ “Harder…” _

Barry swallowed hard, a ringing in his ears. The rhythm picked up intensity and the moaning transitioned into a higher pitched, constant whine. Oliver’s grunts grew louder. The bed frame squeaked a little with each thrust. The whine’s volume suddenly cut in half - Barry imagined someone pulling a pillow over their face while accepting their fate at the hands of Oliver’s tight, muscular body.

A pleasant sensation surged through Barry’s body, bringing his attention to the fact that he was kneading himself through his jeans. There, in the dark hallway, he was getting off on listening to Oliver railing some random dude. He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away. This was an invasion of privacy. He needed to drown this out.

He snuck into his own room and started getting ready for bed. Unfortunately, Oliver’s bed was up against the wall separating their rooms, and Barry could still hear almost every gasp, swear, and squeak. As he got into bed, he took another deep breath and put headphones on to block out the noise.

The headphones could not block out the noises in his head. They did nothing to drown out the visuals of Oliver’s toned muscles stressing with each thrust, his face and shoulders red and sweating with effort. He could almost feel the rocking back and forth of the bed swaying in the act. The feeling of bedsheets curled into fists, or the cold of sweat on his forehead-

Barry’s eyes shot open, his breath quick. He sat in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. There was just enough light filtering in from the window that he could focus on the fan fixture overhead. He dared not close his eyes again, the imagined face of Oliver’s conquest threatening to push into his vision again.

It was  _ him. _ His enjoyment, his interest in Oliver’s activities were dependent on two things: Oliver and  _ him. _

He wasn’t numb. He felt the stiffness pushing up past the elastic in his briefs. He throbbed into his cloth cage. Imagining having sex with Oliver Queen had put him into a difficult situation. Adrenaline in his system, Barry slowly reached down to feel how much he enjoyed this mental image. Something about this didn’t feel right.

Laurel’s little suggestion played out in his mind as he played with himself through the fabric of his underwear. He had her blessing. He had Tommy’s. Was that it? Was he absolved from guilt in this?

It was just a little fun. He was an adult, with adult needs. It shouldn’t matter. And Oliver was so hot. Barry saw it every night. He practically had to tear his eyes away from the Green Arrow on those tables.

But Oliver was his friend. Really, the best friend he had right now. That...made it weird, didn’t it? You don’t masturbate to your friends. Right?

Laurel’s suggestion popped into his mind once more. Barry latched onto it, focusing on her face back at the bar as he listened to her voice. She was right. Barry had a thing for Oliver, something he very recently realized, and from the sound of it, Oliver returned the feeling. Which meant the potential was there. They could possibly, maybe, in some way be  _ more _ than friends. Friends with benefits, at the least.

Barry had to laugh. Calling Oliver anything more than a fuckbuddy would be stretching it, he knew already. But maybe that was okay. They were both adults.

Yeah.

Yeah!

A grin stretched his face in the cover of night. Oliver was available. He certainly needed some release. Maybe Barry would bring it up. See how he felt about it. Maybe he could be there for Oliver in more ways than one in this breakup. And then he could see what he really wanted himself.

Barry sat up and turned on the lamp on his end table. He ripped off the headphones, straining to hear through the silence of his room. Yep. They were still going at it. Barry stalled for a moment, but eventually reached for the lube in his night stand. He had his first day with the SCPD tomorrow morning - this would be a good way to release some first-day jitters.

_ Excuses, excuses. Just fap to your hot roommate, Barry. _

He laughed, in spite of his recent confusion. Everything felt so free, so simple now. He’d worry more about it later, but for now, he had needs he could fulfill. And Oliver and his guest were helping.


End file.
